Poem in need of help, or I left Goldwater

i.
When I got to that town
I found me a home
Glad though I found
the twilight zone

Not a horrible one
It cheered a late bloomer
An offbeat episode
With droll black humor

In a halfway house
Stuck halfway
The sun in the morning
was a big red flame

In the land of trees
where there are no leaves
trucks and mystics
and misfit knees

The tie-dyed streets
All looked inviting
I wore some shades
To adjust the lighting

Wandered like a sailor
with a self-distain
I left Goldwater
for the golden plain.

ii.
The heater I had
would freeze up and die
the girls down that way
walked streets on the side

People half-smiled
Couldn't figure their MO
When I started to talk
Their heels turned to go

the moon was a sliver
the stars were a wonder
Half-standing, half-sleeping
I heard Freddy Fender

Piensa en mi
think of me in my sorrow
Like a log flat floating
Or a bishop with his bowwow

the caffeine and nicotine
Were like rich vicuna
they’d all fall off their stools
and I’d split for Fortuna.

====

So this guy it seems to me is going from town to town til he gets where he’s going. I said to my self well maybe don’t specify a number of North Pacific towns and if effect trash them all as strange somewhat unpleasant places. So I defacto changed the name of Carlotta to Goldwater. Jimmy Rogers [Chicago Bound] and Dylan’s new one [If It Keeps On Raining] have been on my turntable. And Freddy Fender just died. I think now this piece has almost a meter, is rough-yeah, but the scene is set .. so throw in some more guff. I dont think I used everything we had garnered together up to this point but it’s still there to use…And yeah I change things..but they could get changed back…whadya think? .. How about some more? Just dream! This thing does some conjuring for me. It’s a stew, let me know how you’d do it here there overall. To me it recalls about a trip Dave and me took to N.Calif. to see Jeff and Paul. Ah, I am going to Las Vegas on Nov 5…so I sure am not thinking of this going further than that. Altogether now: Muse! Let us prove Hugh Otten’s or Sister Mary Berry’s literary efforts could come to real strange frutition! Hamlet is calling!