My own longest poem ends in DC.

It is 58 days long and too many bicycle patches to count.  One shipmate lost on the journey: 1. b2 to b4, King down. The silence of such a poem can be overwhelming. Even worse can be noises of the company you keep inside. To my great fortune the bouncer for my minds door was a good one and lively conversations ensued within. Who were the alternatives? There is only greatness! Frank the cowboy, Walt forever wandering, Priests with open doors, Mothers with sons at war, and the most humble Rainbow ever known.

Pacific

California

Nevada

Utah

Colorado

Nebraska

Kansas

Missouri

Illinois

Kentucky

Virginia

DC

Maryland

Delaware

Atlantic

At its end was autumn: a Monet in orange.

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