THE TRIP by Paul Corman Roberts

I ride the train
Every day I ride
Through the realm of steel imperial ice walkers,
And all night I ride
So as not to dream so much
About making love with those born the same day as me.

I walk the walk
Each and every day
I walk by phat black mansions
Top shelf masturbation
Stoned temples
Demonic trees
And the O’ so tasteful belch of the American petroleum lobby.

O’ yes
I strut right on past
Dead men
Pedigreed winos
Wired lepers
Cold girls
Hot boys
Frenzied birds
And the best view these two hush pups can purchase.

So then I stroll
Through the schools of the well bred threads,
Just as blind as the next porcelain mannequin I fall in love with
Just as far as the next soul mate
Just around the bend

In these worn out socks;
In these run down shoes.

It’s why I walk the walk.

For the years of psychic blisters and calluses it takes
To steal oneself from the touch of rain, sleet and hail.

Yes, this will be the long
Drawn tale of the service economy flaneur
The in-between flailer
No need to think as backdrops pass
Just remember to sport your layers.

The poet wishes
Only to read, to drool,
To spin a world where
These dreams may turn sane.

For all of this
I walk the walk
Every day
For this
I ride the train.

2 Responses to “THE TRIP by Paul Corman Roberts”

  1. another fine poem Paul

    do you ever find yourself straining to justify another pointless ride?

  2. Joie Cook Says:

    This poem is the backdrop
    of my psyche and a dream
    I had last night.
    Paul, you’ve really tapped
    into this old grrrrl’s soul
    with this one!

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