The rearview mirror rose above a rabbit smashed flat. In the West, we break to our measure. A word in Viet-Nam for river is song. The rabbit is song. In Wyoming the road goes on, sand and sides. The road is the end. The road goes under me and I go on. This is my […]
All the walls are windows, but opaque From all the years they’ve been here, all the dust, So up on the top steel girders I can hardly Detect the twitching tail of a Norway rat, The last of my certainties surviving still, Feeding on a few brave mice perhaps. The rest is just the universal
Tuck your chin in, brother, don’t look up, Ball up your hands in your pockets, pal, The Hawk is out, the definite Hawk, and Don’t look up, no, don’t look up, Keep that chin tucked in, ‘Cause when that lake black wind Scuts those last year, long ago leaves up Clark Street And they’re twisting
The road is rutted sand through scrubby jack pines, sucking clay that weights the feet, sunstruck tar that reaches after every step, or merciless concrete. No matter, they must run, zigzagging crazily as they can, the bullets raising holes behind them. They can tuck and roll into any ditch they please – one plane barrels
The Poor Capitalists Go to the Movies Read More »
In 1982, I went to work with my friend Dave hauling trash, using a 1950s International truck, a classic old 1-ton, open-bed pickup. Somehow Dave became our estimator, despite being A. legally blind and B. pathologically reluctant to wear his glasses. This made for some interesting if unremunerative estimates, and we often wound up working
Do They Throw Things Away They Might Need Someday? Read More »
Should Hope kiss a toad is continuously a puzzle, as pop eyes abound and sewn gapes of muzzle. Scrawny limbs may grow lithe or may remain scrawny. Distended pots may never tighten smooth and bonny. Hope scratches her various tight curls and looks serious. What if no dance emerges from these throttled leaps? What if
Should Hope Kiss a Toad Read More »