I haven't written a poem for quite a while, so be kind.
so you can't find your way by the stars, man
you just follow the dull yellow line
and jack kerouac's ghost
and the barbary coast
ride with you and you think you're fine
but the darkness can fold in around you
like a tunnel with no light ahead
and the sky is so wide
you could swallow the tide
but you'd rather be home in your bed
and back there there's a tow-headed angel
and at home there's a man with dark hair
and you're here in between
and you drive in a dream
and there's so much to do, if you dare.
the fog takes you in
and it sinks in your skin
and you sing a low tune to yourself.
and all that we see or seem
is but a dream within a dream,