So Long John

The radio that told me all about the death of John Ashbery

Is sitting on the road, in a thousand pieces, singing Lonesome Valley

And I'm still in this bar, strumming a dead guitar

I'm all alone on this dying star

So long, John

The birds are in the snare, the cops are in the shrubs, making love with billy clubs

The apple trees are bare and September's here, it's my favorite time of year

Like a bird on a post, singing of what matters most

He was better than jam and toast

So long, John

The radio is blowing down the road, on the long journey home

Whenever I get down, I just recall a poem, it's like a home away from home

But I'm strung out on this chord, pounding a dark keyboard

And I don't care where I'm slouching toward

So long, John