Mythville

Down the Road

from Crawfordsville

Somewhere at the end of the road

Down where the railroad used to go

In her trailer she slept with a frown

Trying to stare her demons down

The statue of libertines came around

The wolf had already walked the town

I wrote poetry without much sound

Except for a laugh

from all of the dumbing down

Down the road from Crawfordsville

the broken motor man turned to stone

like Apache copters a'rotoring on

and wagons circling from raging clowns

they argued the point

till the town burned down

Though they paid the rent

for ten dollars a week

the world was shred

by wolves among sheep

as smokes he borrowed

he burned to keep from weeping

and anhydrous ammonia

came up from the deep

and she worshiped her stars

when lacking sleep

while pine needles fell

in symmetries at her feet

before the dogs all howled

in the morning light

down the road from Crawfordsville

They all got a book out

about self-proclaiming,

about water-board wording

and daylight savings,

burning bushes, barns,

the hay needle's laughter

about the unicorn dying

while the Republican Party's

secret headquarters

has gone to rust

down the road

in Crawfordsville

Yeah, down the road

from that tiny Ta'Iowa town

a pig farmer named Lester

is happier than hell

He's driving by

with a sleeping hawkeye

his parallax view

can tell no more lies

and the good book sold now

to the controverted

stands in the way

of truth's memory

of the local sounds

in Crawfordsville

Cardinal square in sharp-cut corners

the coroner croons with each hard winter

turning summer waters cancer cluster bitter

Down the road from Crawfordsville

"climate is dead" for the motorhead,

fertilizer falls from the fire-up sky,

we need not ask for the season of why

Down the road from Crawfordsville

the maharishi's prayer is for a limo

in need of more corn-fed gasoline

and up the road: the Wal Mart roadkill

is churned up dust from that shuttered

restaurant full of crap for the ghostly haunt

Down the road from Crawfordsville

that old shack is burning still

with bushels full of Monsanto seed corn

breaking your teeth on porky porn

as the Synergy trucker waves goodbye

but even with buckets full of energy

we want heroes, well here are three

with eleven cups of free coffee, cigs,

some sanity for satiety, a kind kinda

Fire Safety Week society

for squeaking toys and dogs

to run free

Down the road from Crawfordsville

there's good folks out there, out there still,

while the eye in the sky is scorching 'em dry

they don't even ask the reason why

since loose lips sink ships, Holy Reagan cow!

The washing machine's roll is terror, Wow!

But the tenderloin's pound is a tender drum

of country folk who ain't ho hum

Can you hear them tommy tum tums

of the super farmer's food taught, like magic,

by a hand-held Fibonacci sequence tool

Down the road from Crawfordsville

the Big Box trucker armies

broke 'em up bad,

so forget those things

you learned in school

about how Frodo kept the ring

and the Golden Rule,

about how mega Hertz

made German tanks,

cause techno Teotihucuan

gives good thanks

at the dinner table, to the cops,

to your loan at your banks

Just let it roll by, let it fire its blanks,

'cause down the road from Crawfordsville

you can still greet the sun in sacrificial light

and the morning moon will come a day too soon,

so swim with the shore you supper fools ...

Down the road from Crawfordsville

worms from the air get carved up, cool,

the super farmer's just awe right

'cause disinformation is far outta sight

and William Shatner just plain lied

to those poor folks in Riverside

and east to west the buffalo returns

to beat the dust from the Bible belt's urn

Down the road from Crawfordsville

a bard's lament is the ever-giving quest,

despite the wormwood, yer guns, yer tongue,

you'll give great thanks when mourning is done,

when her sacrificial second sight is Mary singing

about storms to come, about enough blood to drown

the terrorists of shock, awe, the dumbing down,

just can't avoid the daily bank scam man

who hits the train station burned to the ground

and the bump in the road will kill you if found

Meanwhile the ranch gets saved up the road

from Crawfordsville, where sileage choppers

look like haircut machines by day, E.T. by night,

like giant Sandworms harvesting spice,

and the golf course tanned Dan

is a thousand miles away, tinkering

with puppets to sway, like bobcats

shot and killed and made into hats,

the collection plate is eternal

as the frightly nightly news

the heroes go on despite these views

when asked how she feels she sighs and says,

"Peaceful," she says, "and peaceful is nice."

~ Ames, Iowa

Note: The first private meeting of what would become the Republican Party came when Whig Party defectors met privately in Crawfordsville in February, 1854. The meeting was to lay the groundwork for the creation of a new political party. The first public meeting was held in Ripon, Wisconsin one month later.