GALVESTON
recited the Lord’s prayer and was hired
to the town to take the pledge
to the honky tonk to take exception
in the morning to the fort with the teenage accountants,
with a surplus of munitions
hidden along the sea wall between the tall grass and cattails,
a whiff of brig, a swig of sleep
then bent again like the numbers amid tall hats and coattails
comes awake in the arms of a slot machine
but in the evening, smudged ledgers
and in the morning hedging the machinations
sometimes plagiarism, sometimes smarts
but almost always worth millions in parts
RED HEADED STRANGER
High as a derrick, and sometimes despised,
the long thigh–more beautiful than a stolen horse,
but behaving about as well and shallow as a heiress in the middle of a mood
but to hell with love as a dying ember or her face in a well
well, don’t mind if I do, don’t mind at all,
hope that’ll do ya, but always remember, I don’t mind
AUGUST 21, 1971
Sierra, Tango, Alpha, November
ten pounds inspiration, one inch discipline
I’m a medium but the future looks hollow
around the edges, evaporation
the light shallow and the smell of balloons
the air of inflation won’t make no mind,
don’t mind at all if it smells like home-cooking and turns out a river,
each day, progressively more sawed-off
PINE
There is a justice beyond judgment, just past the trees,
just us and these endless pines, tougher than barbed wire
or the talk of rights while the rice is served–
a self-made meal–ice and scotch stirred in a sliding glass.
The crash of the window as he put his fist through.
The fist darkening the page, the first withdrawn
As if reaching for the salt, but the salt wandering down from his eyes,
as he reached up for the roll of fifties and hundreds
kept in the glove box with the golf balls and pajamas,
but how many shows till he shows
how many times he falls through that mirror
the warm rear of the bird when reaching for the egg or lifting the limbs
the luster of the universe coming loose in the use and pulse of language
who can sleep with wind off the concrete
and las estrellas apagadas por el hurac�n.
The eye wandering aimlessly, indefatigably through the pines.
Back and forth, sliding the glass, to the trees–to be crazy again.
OCCIDENTAL
Freon at last.
“I don’t have the television my se’f. Relations do.”
“We likes it often, but a little at a time.”
preferring a slow and tender swig to the syllabus
which was Sally followed by Becky, with evenings free
do something free or at least break things
but really only chistes para desorientar la polic�a
allegiance to the agenda, but “just doing my job”
pretty sure it was the same for Revere,
said the Occupant who was absente whenever possible
knew full well there was no outside of the test
strictly an older knowledge as veritas simplex oratio est
but blinded by some flash of new color,
one black pebble on a calendar
but onward through college and oncology
learned insects and intellect only sound alike
made a list to eliminate the country and city of your birth, the paint peeling away
of what was left of Becky waving from the flowers,
too red to be a cup of light, too stale to be a cut above
although both described her lips when whistling dixie or reciting her Latin:
otium cum dignitate, said this girl who liked Coast soap and suggestions,
counted to three, and snapped the fingers before explaining:
“There is no leisure without dignity.”
