I used to write broken poems down where the rivers met.
Down by the Kansas and Missouri, right down where they met.
I’d write and then we’d drive those broken poems to St. Louie.
Drive poems and a million rubber bands across the state to St. Louie.
Drove to the Mississippi, late at night, right to the Arch.
3 in the morning when we got there, parked the car right by the Arch.
Tied up those broken poems to those million rubber bands.
Broken poems in the Arch tied to a million rubber bands.
Then we’d stretch those poems all the way back to Clayton or Ladue.
We’d stretch ’em good and far back to Clayton or Ladue.
And then we’d let those poems fly to Manhattan and D.C.
Those broken poems’d fly to New York, maybe Cleveland or Philly.
Then we’d flip ourselves around to face the other coast.
A million rubber bands and broken poems headed toward the West Coast.
We’d send ’em off to San Francisco, Portland, and L.A.
A million broken poems headed Pacific way.
So many broken poems down where the rivers met.
So many broken poems from deep down where the rivers met.