The Junkie + The Yogi.

“…It’s hard to hold the hand of any man who’s reaching for the sky just to surrender…”

Different sides of the same coin–
ready for the onslaught–
The other runs away with imagination
and fantasy–
All that possibility
when one is oh so high–
Taking psychic flight
remembering little after the fact.

I walk away from my second class of the day
and find myself
the drunk fecks on Oxford Street,
stumbling over their own insecurities,
arguing about nothing–
talking loudly
posture poorly–

I don’t judge them.
Nor do I associate with them much anymore.

I used to be one.

That was then.

Drop that.
Give me that.
Give that to me.

It doesn’t serve you–

Haven’t you worked that much out yet?

It’s true that all the men you knew were dealers
who said they were through with dealing
Every time you gave them shelter
I know that kind of man
It’s hard to hold the hand of anyone
who is reaching for the sky just to surrender…

And then sweeping up the jokers that he left behind
you find he did not leave you very much not even laughter
Like any dealer he was watching for the card
that is so high and wild
he’ll never need to deal another
He was just some Joseph looking for a manger…

And then leaning on your window sill
he’ll say one day you caused his will
to weaken with your love and warmth and shelter
And then taking from his wallet
an old schedule of trains, he’ll say
I told you when I came I was a stranger…

But now another stranger seems
to want you to ignore his dreams
as though they were the burden of some other
Oh, you’ve seen that man before
his golden arm dispatching cards
but now it’s rusted from the elbows to the finger
And he wants to trade the game he plays for shelter…

Ah, you hate to watch another tired man
lay down his hand
like he was giving up the holy game of poker
And while he talks his dreams to sleep
you notice there’s a highway
that is curling up like smoke above his shoulder
and suddenly you feel a little older…

You tell him to come in sit down
but something makes you turn around
The door is open you can’t close your shelter
You try the handle of the road
It opens do not be afraid
It’s you my love, you who are the stranger…

Well, I’ve been waiting, I was sure
we’d meet between the trains we’re waiting for
I think it’s time to board another

Please understand, I never had a secret chart
to get me to the heart of this
or any other matter

When he talks like this
you don’t know what he’s after

When he speaks like this,
you don’t know what he’s after.

Let’s meet tomorrow if you choose
upon the shore, beneath the bridge
that they are building on some endless river
Then he leaves the platform
for the sleeping car that’s warm
You realize, he’s only advertising one more shelter
And it comes to you, he never was a stranger
And you say ok the bridge or someplace later.

And then sweeping up the jokers that he left behind …

And leaning on your window sill…

I told you when I came I was a stranger.


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