I Poem by Ben Partenay

have followed, not wanting to
the bitter man that traces telephone
wires across the land to the hills
that wake the sky each morning

and walking i have seen more dust
than a man should, drank more than
a man should, felt less and more
than anyone should, the stars

are always out, that fact
hit me hard and made me
wish that it was always night-
time in the low down country, so

i call home anything that feels
like walking up a gravel path to steps,
any waking moment where the moon
is full of all the answers to the bitter

man inside of me questioning it all.
i will tell you, at the end of the road
the wires travel to a small house high
in the stone snow mountains, a hermit

is hiding there, he will not talk
to anyone, nor will he call to you,
there is a silence
that cannot be spoken of.