Dreams of Jack Burney

Jack Burney
your Beautiful Dreams hide
in a stream of black smoke
trailing the Chicagoland Express

on the outbound train riding through
the great wheat plain

We Listen
to Beautiful Thinkers who quietly
Tinker on the creaky train
(drinking grain alchyhol
at 3 a.m.)

We are Gautama
Meditating like Neruda

Kiss those hands Your prose stained hands
We breastfeed and suckle

On Tecate
You on Quetzalcoatl


The old man screaks
Curtis, my brother
Pulls the curtain clouds Apart to sneek a Peek

He Hears:

“Which way to San Francisca?”
The pushcart peddler bares a toothless smile
from his whole hearted soul
“Li Po needs a ride”
Up from Mexicoland Mother Earth transforms herself
Scrub brush

Motherless mirages blanket the horizon
Cacti stand
-sentinels manned
The barrage of dust coats
My lungs

I Point up to say
lies in the ground you seek”

Jack Burney
On the night express Enroute to Midamerica, U.S.
-Train trail rider
Your journey ends as the crossroads

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