For J. in Reno

must our origins absorb
again the best of us who'd fled
toward bright beckoning welcoming
(for instance toward the North)
only to lose, resoundingly lose
the dreams amidst the scavenging
for place and peace and love and food,
for cigarette nubs and beer money
and or the o'ercoming o'er
the lonely? our land of shameless
origin loves us not, and yet
the best the fragilest flock back,
as safety that's a lie is safety
still, and slow decomposition
beats starvation in a harness race,
I guess I curse I slurringly
conclude sans much a grudge--
I, remaining, steadfixed, stranded
and loving every strand of green
and raindrop and junky in this
city, understand I guess and
nod and say Godspeed your mad
steadfastness in my god damned
south home town.