The Fresno Poet

So he got an all-night ride
through a voluntary jail and  hot tar crew;
then across the prairies and over the mountains
toward the death of my source.

By sunrise, I’d told Luthor about Noah
giving money to strangers.
Concerned, the poet wanted to find the reason why —
asking me to stay while he did:  therefore Luthor was away.

While he was gone,
my writing went on as morning black down low to gray
reminded me of Noah helping Luthor read my tea leaves —
saying I was gonna hurt someone;
which worried and pissed me off for quite a while.
But I’d been careful all along, because
I didn’t want to hurt anyone.
Even though Luthor believed Noah might have been
onto something — just got his verb wrong …