This poem is called "Directions to the Nomad."
And it was-- where I live in Missoula
is a valley just a little ways out of Missoula
called the Rattlesnake.
And down below us used to be the old County Poor House.
And that had since been transformed
into the Opportunity School.
Which is not much of an opportunity
but it was for retarded children.
But they were tearing it down.
It's a very old building and made out of bricks.
Which is unusual in Montana.
Everything here is made out of bricks.
So, you have to appreciate how unusual is to find a brick
building in Montana.
But this was one and this guy came around in his dump truck
and he asked me which way to the opportunity school.
And I gave him directions.
I don't know if there was really any opportunity there or not.
But he just wanted the bricks he didn't care if there wasn't.
[LAUGHTER]
So, I gave him directions and went back and wrote this poem.
It's called "Directions to the Nomad."
Pass the school and down this little incline.
You can't miss it.
Tons of bricks and babies blue from the waist down.
Their heads are cheese and loll as though bricks
became their brains.
What's that, the noble savage?
He's around.
Spooked and colored by the fish he eats.
Red for rainbow, blue for the moon.
He instructs stars but only to the thinnest wolf.
When you get there, tell the mad decaying creep we miss him.
We never meant it.
He'll treat you right.
Show you poems the black bear couldn't dream.
One more thing, if he tries to teach you
mountains or whisper imagined love to the tamarack,
tell him you adore him.
Then get the hell out, fast.