They sat beside their tables as the people walked by. “What is this one about?” It’s my soul in color and form which I call art, for sale in a universe of color and form, art for sale with a frame from another soul, left at Goodwill
They sat beside their tables as the people walked into the ten by ten pop up canopies and looked at the flowers and landscapes and souls in color and form called art for sale in a universe of color and form
The wind comes up and blows leaves down the concrete path and the sun pokes through the clouds and leaves shadows in the grass. The people weave among the ten by ten pop up canopies and smile and talk like birds singing on a summer day. The artists sit on folding chairs noticing the people pausing and smiling at a color or a memory.
oh write for me a sonnet oh write for me a book oh slip the bonds of caring into the cranny nook oh let me be the one the one who does not weave the thread of discontent with the words I leave Oh there ain’t no more boxcars for Willie and Woody to ride No hobos in containers as the freight train rolls by Oh what’s a hobo to do what’s a hobo to do stand on the street and sing the blues thumb don’t work and the cop says move This modern world don’t feel no pain and only graffiti rides that train They could ship themselves from China but they wouldn’t get much air, take the last train to Clarksville but they couldn’t get out of there Oh they don’t have to hire no railroad dick you can’t catch the train it goes by too quick.
I’ve got my American Dream in a plastic bag because I cant afford the rent they had
Oh what’s a hobo to do what’s a hobo to do stand on the street and sing the blues thumb don’t work and the cop says move This modern world don’t feel no pain and only graffiti rides that train