Out There



Is there any way of possibly—
describing the High Plains out there?

There’s no way of describing it—
CAPOTE wasn't ready for it at all

The bleakness, the lonely starkness—
IN COLD BLOOD a living Nightmare

SANTA FE track straight thru town—
some tall white Grecian grain elevators

They called it OUT THERE—
and there’s a reason why they did

Between Kansas and Colorado—
there’s nothing but a vast Nothingness

Not that that bothers anybody living—
out there on the surface of the Moon

The sky looks down on mere humanity—
just like it did on the stoic Indians 

Endless fields of golden wheat fields—
out there where the horizon never ended

Did Holcomb or Garden City—
really even exist in that terrible Void?

The sky looms high overhead—
did it really care for anything down there?

OUT THERE was faraway from anything—
It was where NOTHINGNESS ruled

It’s hard to comprehend sheer Nothingness—
especially to a Brooklyn Heights writer

And yet this is what happened, baby—
Capote brought it back to the Big Apple 

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