cursion number six…
in the New Year, trek and prove here
’cause I need my fix.
on a Sunday cool…
look around here, on the ground clear;
ev’ry body move.
Duos and clumps of four and five,
townies and the tourists…
market-to-market and ride-to-ride,
moments of the purist, but
what about those simple joggers,
what about the poor and lame?
What about the single wolves, the
strong percent of nameless names?
What about those souls like mine,
accustomed to a lonesome life?
Sober on these pavement floors, can’t
be the only one tonight.
If we’re going nowhere a-
haps it makes us all somewhat
if we’re going somewhere a-
least we’re headed alone to-
If we’re corner-standing a-
least we’re standing around to-
if you’re on these streets here a-
alone ain’t alone here to-