Joan d’Arc		Ode to Jack I can’t look out your ghost,   pulling your long hot burden nowhere wedding your tears to the stream long dream    of an impossible task too much to ask      to dharma your soft so hard      to meaning your Gerard One fast move or you’re gone,  pulling your long hot burden nowhere I can’t look out your ghost,  to see the skid row sod you tried to become   Bum! He was a bum, the Lowell bookshopkeep said,    “man’s man, momma’s boy” One fast move or you’re gone,  never again to belong      Gone—the way of the railroad earth a phantasm from the cookie dough factory,  pulling your long hot burden nowhere I can’t look out your ghost,  to find one sap belongs    in the chain gang of god-given wrongs Oh—godman atop an Underwood,     Go—the way of the railroad earth  add your tears to the stream By its burbling it shall speak    a phantasm clear:    Go—  pull your long hot burden nowhere I can’t look out your ghost,  couch hobo hitchhiker    fish out of water fishing the Pisces sees  the cause of suffering is birth, Maw —the first law of deadbeat Buddha despair    Go—Your way or the Highway,  Rise—your Virgo Moonward,  trailing your bebop starship skywhere		The sound the sky makes “Freddy? do you hear that noise in the sky?”    “Yes.” “That’s the sound the sky makes when it’s happy.”       “That’s an airplane.” Eyes searched the sky.  No airplane. The corner Maple said “who-her, who-her, who-her-who?” The mystery answered “her-do, her-do, her-her-do.”    “Twitit, witit, bitip-bitip?” A teenie tweep answered, “bweep bweep.” “Freddy? “Why do birds ask so many questions?” “Who-her, who-her, who-her-who?” “Why do you ask so many questions?” “Bitip, bitip, who-her-who?” A fluffy bee in yellow & black striped fur    balanced his fatness on a dandelion    a baby woke from a dream cryin’ “Freddy? Why does he wear a fur coat in the summer?” “Aaaa, waaaa,” on the baby’s face the strife    of the loud roar of life. “Bwaaaaa, haaaaa” she bawled awake    the sky’s bellyache. A green caterpillar tilted its leafy lunch cart A pale yellow butterfly flapped     its thunderous silent wings and in China something stole    down a dirt hole. . .    a neverending nightcrawler lurched into the neverending crawling night    long with sleeper cars    rumbling like a train to Mars. Mother bird under luscious load strained and nearby grubs larvae just attained     strange metamorphosizes while  other eyezez     charged single file     up the green stalk of bean. “Freddy? Do worms taste like baloney sandwiches?” “Don’t know.” “What if you put mustard on em?” “Er-doo, er-doo, er doo-doo,” said the sky. “Twitit, twiditit, twiditit,” said another corner of the sky.    biddle blinkeley? said bamboo chimes on the wind    to the lonely twitter of a bird babysitter And the call of Mum, lunch time!