PAUL GOODMAN IN PROVIDENCE
(1911-1912)

He found this guy
without two cents
waiting at a bus stop
in Providence
who is twenty
with a bong
but really younger
singing crazy songs
under the stars
will quickly vanish
a his last note
on his Spanish guitar
about love's forgetfulness
why the world is wrong
as a runaway
who caresses
his handsome skin
likes his voice within
he may not find again
or not pick a fight
with a kid in shoes
shorts and sneakers
forgetting the clocks
when love is in the air
not to lose the night
as a sugar daddy
will share
as a sociologist of love
once abused
for a twisted love or just used
in a maladjustment
(who can guess)
you wanted many things
(not to brag)
begun by Susan Sontag
in your happenings
with killer innocence
as a mask of Platonic youth
is taken off and a jazz riff
of beauty released to duty
if who but Paul Goodman
minding his own business
is picking up pebbles
by June's tall sand dunes
along six coppery miles
seeking that call of a smile
in a peaceful photograph
or writing that lasting paragraph
risking a sleepwalking trial
licking a chocolate candy
in bands of a vanilla cup
for a thousand hours
in guilt of his own failings
watches this kid as a ghost
almost fall
from the span of railings
in this pale skin night
when everything came off
that could sing out
from the love and laughter
ever after Walt Whitman
you are not alone
his small voice recalls
playing with a campy fire
on the rocks and stone
in a constant bone up
of a dauntless desire.