Tuesday, July 12, 2011


In creosote bushes
and deep puddles
of Coors Light,
the desert had fallen
to raise a spraypainted yard.
This is where we are
camping with dinosaurs
(can be tough). Monks'
shirts and serviettes will
keep you in animation.
We are open to something,
still alive in oil and tar,
the magic of not-caring,
especially of not-knowing.
We learn how to share
our bodies even when
we are disassembled online.
The sky is emptied by
moonlight that colors
the dirt blue. Our feelings
seem ocher, and are
embellished when disgusting,
quieted when true.

(Rylynn frowns at the bourbon
on the belt conveyor.
Nedra smiles knowingly
and shakes her head.
Tacy, Brock, Amberly,
Bevin, and Briffany
back away frightened.)

He would have liked
to call her. Where have you
learnt this good news? she
might ask. He'd look at
his rough palms questioningly.

I see everything culturally—
even plants and geology,
the backgrounds to epochs
and genres.
Saturdays under the bridge,
I'm raising a family of reptiles.
I believe it without understanding.
God save the King Cobras.