Like briars on a broken highway
You turn the wash skillet
And I am going…
I bike to Mentryville there is
An old house there
An old school and oil pumps
Pepper trees on the path
Then sage
And marigold?
I wonder what these are—
Flowers inside the canyons
Are new to me
The sun isn’t new
But it’s late not early
The sun is going
Down
Down
In and around Mentryville
The first oil was discovered here
In the 1870s
Now it’s all dirty and broken
Pump parts and sulfur
Abandoned things
You find in these canyons
Ahead is a broken highway—
Washed out by a flood once
Now covered with thick briars
I wonder
If I took a picture of this
Would you still want me?
dream-bike-reverie
Lover, an apartment
Loving the flavors of someone
Peach and green and tan
Are the pastels
Lost in the prints that you could not name/master
No color
Dust from your arms
This town is new to me and I see it
Feel it
Cold in the morning
I go out for a ride on my bicycle
Up and down the paseos
Into the neighborhoods
The houses sit like this | |
The days are rich
The sun sheer as cut glass
I could go back to my place and make a sandwich
Or I could call you
My best friend tells me
Santa Clarita
Newhall, Valencia
Like names in the mind
The whole valley is glittering with them
From the Archive:
myth, that gold thing
the stalk the leaf the branch
the freakish lambswool the sun color
the ruin the organizer of ideas
the accompanier of spice
the attribute of rule
the touch turned everything to
the spiritual outlook
the beat the airy thinness
the glitter up the foil down
the solid
the standard the hard currency
the theoretical l’argent
the retort baby
the baroque equivocator
the lamé glitter
the powder the dust
the fine flake on a rosebush
the fool’s fire the philosopher’s crush
the page-edge
the gilt manners the wretched
the thumb rubber the shiny thing
the dull clump
the good conductor
the plug on a good wire
the shaft the wheat
the cornsilk the ear
the anything cereal
the nib the tissue ivy
the clot the piss the untouched
the representative blight
the smear the ingot
the filigree and its stone mother
the brilliant impact
the ghost the crown
the thought struck into matter to hallow it
the splendor the allegiance to
the unseen significance
the plate the mind
the forgive me the wheel
the heat the lion’s jaw
the thing the mane is
the shiver the long questionable shorthand
the crowd, untruth
Avatar Review Issue 12
The new issue of Avatar Review is now online. Read it here.
One of the first love songs
Why are arms so naked
They are the best part of people
Nude, elongated, and fleshy
Coiled and muscular
Tan
And when clothed the arm has rigidity
It lends strength to orders
It pushes the hand to destiny
This too is good
But I like the other end of the arm
The underneath where it meets the body
This part of the arm can be coarse and slick
It can be soft and smooth
Either way it is the truth of the arm
One of two truths
If I could touch you there
It would be something to celebrate
I’ve got a poem in the current issue of Arch.