WEBVTT

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And this next poem is called
"Directions to the Nomad".

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Where we live is out in
the middle of 40 acres.

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It was an old farm at one time,
and it's surrounded by trees.

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And we have no real address,
so if people come out there,

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they're either friends
of ours, or they're lost.

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And most of the
time, they're lost.

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And one time, this big
dump truck came through,

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and he was lost.

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He was searching for
the old Opportunity

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school, which was down behind
our place about half a mile.

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And they were tearing
it down, and he'd

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come for the old bricks.

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And so he asked me, which way
did the old Opportunity school.

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And I gave him directions,
and he went away.

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So I wrote this poem about that.

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"Past the school and
down this little incline,

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you can't miss it.

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Tons of bricks and babies
blue from the waist down.

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Their heads are cheese
and loll as though bricks

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became their brains.

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What's that?

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The noble savage-- he's around,
spooked and colored by the fish

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he eats.

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Red for rainbow,
blue for the moon.

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He instructs stars, but
only to the thinnest wolf.

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When you get there, tell the
mad decaying creep we miss him.

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We never meant it.

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He'll treat you
right, show you plums

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the black bear couldn't dream.

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One more thing-- if he tries to
teach you mountains or whisper

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imagined love to the tamarack,
tell him you adore him,

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then get the hell out--

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fast."

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[LAUGHTER]

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