the continental divide in poetry

it wasn’t snowing on Raton
but I found things to do in Denver
while I was dead
took my stand on a street corner in Winslow Arizona
but all the women now are in my head

it wasn’t snowing on Raton
passed through Chicago though
it wasn’t my sweet home
I still never made my way
up to San Jose
let alone leaving my heart in
Francisco

it wasn’t snowing on Raton
these days I end up dreaming
of old New York in June
you can travel the world when you are young
not knowing the whole meaning
getting older then
the world travels on you