mmcmxv

Rewritten Arkansas

     You only have the right to piss in the fountain

     If you are beautiful.

                                           —Jack Spicer

Yesterday I did not

encounter any fount-

ains.  That is not true.

My youth is enshrined

within the hope for 
a future; I scan the

hustle and bustle 

around me at any

particular moment

until I spot the one

hustler and bustler

who brings a little

tingle up my spine.

The hustlers at

Union Square, no

different than the

bustlers at the

Metreon Target

or, I walk all

the way to 

Pier 39 

(always

loving to

play the 

tourist;

like the

hustler 

I believe

I am not,

nor never

could be, 

even I know

where to find

the best catch!)

until I spot

The One.

My work has

just begun.

I am enshrined

within the twill

(or the tulle)

of the until.

’Twill happen

one day,

this until.

Like Ponce

de Leon
searching

for, and be-

lieving he 

had found,

he had “dis-

covered” (as

we “learned”

in junior

high school;

the class:

Arkansas

History)

the glorious

Fountain of 

Youth, his

life-long dream,

in Hot Springs,

Arkansas.

De Leon, 

the discoverer

of Arkansas,

The Natural

State, that 

great home-

base of my

imagination,

the wondrous

Land of Oppor-

tunity.  And

also, as a side-

note, the home of

the “Chocktaw,

Chickasaw,

Cherokee,

Creek...and

sometimes

Sioux.”