And taking the road, yonder—
without the tears of Hollywood
or 1985, Thelma & Louise snuffed out
Innana and sister dancing at the cliff, but
there aren’t any edges here, just dry
dust and my underworld of underwear
the car’s oil spilled, walking into
the Nevada brown, no, red not brown
earth, one jug left bearing the grace of
without water When’s it gonna rain?
No one does anything together here for
better or worse–
just all dis-jointed/discombobulate/
disembodied parts just like my wheels
mufflers, metal strings, exhaust again
Olson’s “America is just a complex of occasions”
Hitch ride stop
at the nearest Texaco [Gas] station.
it is the work of progress
a whored inter-national Atlantic
forgotten olive tongue
tenderized moose and duck–squacking:
verbose loon(ied) identity lost
cult culture depraved to seven days
in a psychiatric hospital—missing pieces,
places, un homed.
Fatherland, I am native wine.
the soil here bears no salt, alpine glow,
only mushroom grows, ever popular
you now, a poplar great-laked tree.
Remember us with Plastic pins, poppies.
We say whom? What is this?
A mob of finger licking concrete
brick beaten jovial constructions
steeled fences, forty years rusteen
aligned to nineteen seventy one,
Homeland security found in farmed divisions
A tower above treatise, a dome without roof.
This is hard work Man-Bitch
Father Forensic, driven to Thunder Bay
vibrating over oboe rubber rings,
no tar highways in 1980 Chevy Oldsmobile
fermenting in to Wino bubbled trunks,
Damn the Father forest hunt
adjacent to wine sweat
Strega [Witch] had claimed me
from the eighteenth year
of levis jeans, baby denim wash,
corrupt slave cotton.
I am (not wanted) sweet potato placenta
Phoenician princess coagulating
A panini and a cooked ham—Prosciutto
with late night Chamomile tea.
At airports collecting loads of luggage,
Customs lamented be fore 9/11
wandering in and out of visitations to