Where They Found Him

They found him beneath the stairs
staring at your feet, but seeing your head,
all back-masked and Beatlesque

Ordering in, ordering out:
They found him naked,
running mildly about

They found him lighter,
mightier, than the devout,
in Las Vegan, New Mexico

They found him in Las Vegas,
too, too, too, turning off the TV,
staring back at you.

They found him on a tape recorder,
after having recorded,
a mad chant to an enchantress

They found him, laying on his back
on a mattress, having failed to pay,
with coin, to breathe Fox News air

They found him everywhere:
In journals, on bathroom walls,
on the covers of novels unsold

They found him brilliant, lit,
deviated and sane: They found him
listening to Jefferson Airplane

They found him scraping ice
off some shorecraft
in British Columbia

They found him with forty eight
states of being on forty eight
motel room keys, thumbing dumb

They found him at the Ritz Carlton
chewing Wrigley's authentic
chewing gum on the run

They found him totalled
in a Thunderbird car
he called "Blue Desire"

They found him riding
the next red micro-wave wave
raiding irradiated green wire

They found him giving back,
the gift that keeps on giving ...
They found him. They found him.

They found him, finding you,
spitting blood on a white napkin,
they found him, finding you.