Woolie Bullie

There’s a Diner out on Route Three Twenty Two.

Western Pennsylvania.

I spent my life there one afternoon.

I can’t get that stretch of road

Out of my head.

I hear it when I

Take a shower

Reading the paper.

I’d look up and see it

Across the valley.

They tore down the Starlight

And down at the end of the road

Built a big Day’s Inn.

Blocks the view.

But I know that road’s still there

I can feel it wherever I go.

Whatever I’m doing

It knows that I’m still here.

And it's waitin’.

We are abandoned.

Lies own the word.

All the pictures and

All the museums

In the world

Are just a sham

Peeking played

By the clever people

Who broke the rules.

Reality is defined by the needs of the

Media

History is rewritten

Faster than it can happen.

Culture’s a weapon

That’s used against us.

Culture’s a swamp.

And a superstition;

Ignorance and abuse.

Geography is a language

That can’t screw up.

Land,

And what we add to it

Cannot lie.

It’s also like a mirror

In which we see ourselves,

Or choose to turn away.

Watch it now.

Watch it.

Watch it.