Sunken Waltz

Washed my face in the rivers of empire, Made my bed from a cardboard crate, Down in the City of Quartz. No news, no new regrets. Tossed a Susan B. over my shoulder, And prayed it would rain and rain, Submerge the whole western states. Call it a last fair deal With American zeal And corporate handshake. Take the story of Carpenter Mike, Who dropped his tools and his keys and left And headed out as far as he could, Past the cities and gated neighborhoods. And he slept neath the stars, Wrote down what he dreamt, And he built a machine For no one to see. Then took flight, at first light Of new morning.