Western Sky Variations

1

sway grass by the hydrant
loop de loop clouds
move as sway cats
in the white sky
some geese walking
the parking lot -
water tower silver distance

2

the stars in the sky
reel around
the rusty water tank
on the white tin shed
beside the pines
between the fences
beneath the Illinois sky -
some go-go clouds
the sun hiding behind
one of 'em

3

corrugated metal box
plopped atop the gravel roof
so many sundowns
blasting south from Itasca

***

the swallows angle-winging
above the conifers and oaks
remember chalky cloud
sundowns lasting days

4

sun spies blue pocket sky
draped with wishbone clouds

rocks on the rooftop
pulled from the fox river
sparkle starlight signals
reflect information
back into the ivory-forged
cloud bank
up into the ether

5

cloud ship docking
sparrow pairs clocking -
prairie evening special

***

the slant roof
steel circle chimneys
rise through the gray tiles -
silent red light
blinks through the night clouds
drifts above the corn fields
and the back roads
crossing the tracks
of foraging deer

6

grey-white carpet cloud
the sun beneath it
was what I saw
last time I looked
out the window
this time: cloud traces remain
the sun hasn't moved?!
tree tops dark green
described by a city mind



7

"When Was the First Time I Heard Kung Fu Fighting?"

A cloud poised like a pouncing raccoon
squared off against
a shadow rabbit cloud
on hind legs
lit from behind -
kane county sundown
illumination

8

What said the hallway window over the parking lot

meadow flower sundown?
What said the water tower silver distance?
What said the spry rabbit curled around the signpost ringed by clover?

9

the robin sits on the roof corner
drops straight down out of sight
flash of orange
enters the shadow plane -
the red winged blackbird

A Day in the Life

Stephen Miller lays down on a white rug. He paints himself white from his feet to his undertaker's head. He opens his mouth and paints his tongue white. He gets up and walks outside of his Los Angeles apartment and hears unfamiliar phrases. Sak pase. Lagaca laabe. Oye güero. He panics and runs through the streets all the way to the shore. The Pacific Ocean isn't speaking English either. It's crashing, sloshing, dragging. And the water is not white. It's blue, grey, golden, clear. Stephen Miller begins to dig through the sand, sifting for the white grains. The wind blows the grains out of his hands. He is desperate. He sees a white bird. At last! he thinks. It shits on his head. The shit is grey blue. He runs into a bar and demands that they play Cream, White Room. But it's all wrong. "I'll wait in this place where the sun never shines. Wait in this place where the shadows run from themselves." No, he says, Whiter Shade of Pale. Play Whiter Shade of Pale, Procul Harum. He hears the descending organ chords. He begins to relax. He closes his eyes and pictures the color white. Maybe there's a way out this, he thinks. Gary Brooker sings, "We skipped the light fandango." No! What the fuck?! yells Stephen Miller. Did he have to use a Spanish fucking word in that song?! Did he have to?! Fuck this shit. He awakes. Another day inside the stone prison where he used to send people. Fuck this shit, he thinks. Carajo, somebody else says.

FASCISM

 

It's like there's some people
for whom swimming in a lake
on a sunny day
isn't enough
seeing a fiddler crab
slide into a tidal pool
isn't enough
hearing a blues band
at the corner bar
ascend into a spiraling
bliss state
of release
isn't enough
the perfect burrito
where you drizzle hot sauce
onto each bite
isn't enough
the perfect falafel sandwich
isn't enough
butterflies in the meadow
someone says I love you
accordion at the farmers market
salsa dance lessons
are not enough
so they go on looking
for something
The Great Thing
that isn't there
that never arrives
and leaves ashes
where it
was
sought

BOOK GROUP

 

WHY COULDN'T YOU MONETIZE YOUR TALENT?

 

(poem found in forgotten files)

I was mowing the grass on a golf course fairway
400 yards of dragon scale green glinting dumbly in the sun
When the sky turned purple in the west
The sound of a building beginning to collapse
The collapse sound accelerating
Clouds that looked like nickels flattened on train rails
Issued a lightning bolt that withered the tree
I was standing beneath
The way Jesus withered the fig tree
That did not bear him fruit out of season
My hair was singed
My teeth felt like electric crystal
I ran down the dragon scale green fairway
In the strobe light of the storm
It began to hail and it sounded like
I was inside of the popcorn machine at the movie theater
Pop! Pop! Pop!
I screamed and a hailstone entered my mouth
Pelting the back of my throat and damaging my larynx
And I could no longer sing a without feeling like a baby dragon
Was hatching in its egg inside of the kettle

American Fascism

 

Sci-fi in America

he watches a show
about outposts of humans
fighting off
hordes of spore people
north america
wrapped in dread
the stumbling fungal
masses
appear from behind
mountains
from inside derelict
buildings
the hero
rides a horse to a chalet
in a blizzard
he has rescued
a woman
and now she must
kill him
inside the walled city
they hold off the
hungry undead
with exploding barrels
of kerosene
and sharp shooters
perched on ramparts
¡eso!
he yells
¡no lo mates!
he yells
next day
target parking lot
he is grabbed
and sent
with planeloads of men
to a fortress
within a different
walled city
men who traveled up
the umbilical cord
of the americas
seven countries
in seven years
working in car washes
bakeries
brake shops
hair salons
rushed in the night
into a zone
beyond landscape
and time
where their minds
will sprout
nightmares
of chase
and vampiric bites
that merge the victim
with the mycelium world

(Photo by Yael Martinez, from 2024 Day of the Dead show, National Museum of Mexican Art, Chicago)