Magnetic Mountain

I saw a picture of 

Magnetic Mountain

hidden in smoke

a mountain of iron

city built under 

a mountain of iron

spin the clock backward

roll back the calendar

fix every compass on

Magnetic Mountain

mama blew the roof off

and everyone died

but the miracle child
but the miracle child
they found in the frost

Lincoln Highway Blues

[[ It started with a quote in an article about the Beatles: "At the time I happened to be driving across the country on Interstate 80; in each city where I stopped for gas or food—Laramie, Ogallala, Moline, South Bend—the melodies wafted in from some far-off transistor radio or portable hi-fi. It was the most amazing thing I’ve ever heard." And there are fires now. And Ulysses and Leda peek in. And I took a Google maps trip down that part of the Lincoln Highway (30, not 80). And other stuff. But it's not about the Beatles or any of that other stuff. It is summer + radio + car + open spaces + America in the vaguest sense ]]


we heard you

coming through the radio

we heard you

humming down the wire

we heard your voice.

between the mountains 

when the mountains 

were on fire

we heard you

rolling through the barrio

we heard you

moaning through the wall 

we caught you 

going down ... 

the river 

where the river 

starts to fall

your voice was everywhere all summer 

they had to tie me to the mast  

and when the fever had passed 

I slept into autumn

I slipped into nothing 

I dreamt I was gotten

by something with wings

we heard you all the way 

from Laramie to Cheyenne

we heard you all the way

from Cheyenne to Ogallala 

I believe I fell asleep in Ogallala

and had an awakening in Davenport

we heard  you 

going down ... 

the river 

where the river 

starts to fall

we heard you all the way 

we heard you all the way 

summer is the season of fire

[[ summer wildfires ]]

someone set this mountain on fire

while we were sleeping 

coming back by daylight, you feel

the flame still creeping

this is where our home used to be

now all that's standing

is you and me

you see it on the horizon

you think there's plenty of time

and then the devil comes 

walking [[ two syllables to sound like a siren ]]

up your[[ two syllables to sound like a siren ]] 

street one [[ two syllables to sound like a siren ]]

house at a time

someone burned this valley down

while we were dreaming

you hear the roofs fall in on themselves

and horses screaming

this is where our home used to be

now the smoke's rolling

down to the sea

I think I heard somebody 

praying in the smoke 

to Santa Ana.

Whisky, whores, and gold (fuck this town)

[[ is it a Broadway song or a country song or a folk song? ]] 

Why should a man 

dig potatoes 

all day 

in these fields,

when there's gold 

to be dug 

from the ground? 

Why should a man 

hitch his wagon 

to the neighbor's 

pale girl,

when he could swing

a new dancer 

each night?

Why should a man 

grind out his life

in these 

four square walls,

when he could ride 

a straight line

till he's gone?

Why should a man

spend his days

signing checks

in this town,

when he could go

give a mountain

his name?

[[ first the noble-sounding stuff... ]] 

Ride 

with the morning behind you

Ride 

with the night in your eyes

Die 

with the stars rolling over your bones, but

Live

under infinite skies

[[ ...but then cut to the truth ]]

Course there's gold and whores and whisky,

Whores and whisky and gold.
Wouldn't want a girl to miss me

Wouldn't be a man to be told

All I want is whores and whisky

Give me whisky and whores
And gold.

I'm going out west, 

Cause fuck this town.

I will strike a match

I will burn it down

Fuck the thirteen colonies

Right from Maine on down

Fuck every city 
to the Mississippi

But, most of all, 
fuck this town.

I can't say I'm not going to miss you

I can't say I won't look around

But I can't stay another damned minute

Or I swear I will burn this place down