I return again
To the beginning
Where it's best
To start again
With me
The folk agree
'Tis their
Favorite spot indeed
Though they said that first
About the middle
Then again about the end...
Rental house done
in typewriter theme
boxed wine in the fridge
fuzzy comet up high
Typewriter ribbon
run dry
ink disappearing
into dust
lost as a sinking
creek
Baseball delayed by disease
five planets visible
all-numeric password
my wife and I
driving in the dark
in a very old town
that neither of us knew
to get our eyes on a comet
no one knew would be there
Corona is
a brand of typewriter
of beer
of pruning tool
a constellation Borealis
a fancy word for halo:
That ring we saw during the solar eclipse
that pearly glow
A gaseous envelope
burning hotter
than the Sun itself
I felt the floor move beneath me
Downstairs activity tremored my tree
Nuts fell all around, inedible, indelible.
So I went to the park, sought out shade
Set my things below a large post oak
Its armlike branches reaching down
To ruffle the grassy hair of the ground.
I tossed a blanket
Ate a butter and bacon sandwich
Tried to get comfortable...
1. It is tomorrow here already.
When the vodka's gone
it means we have to sleep
And I don't want to sleep—ever!
2. Turning and twisting.
What was all that law school for?
Those early mornings, Austin city
bus, statutes, prescription glasses,
hard attitude, I
Never wrote the checks. I only ever
sued one "person," one dumb city and
It was a win but
what is that victory now?
Bakersfield to Boston,
A little overweight.
If you saw some onions
By the side of the highway
They were probably mine.
The guy who loaded my rig
Didn't know what he was doing
So I didn't mind a few
Rolling loose back there
On Highway 58
On Interstate 40
On Interstate 44.
You didn't see any
Whole bags of them, did you?
Just so long as I didn't drop
Any whole bags.
They've already been on there for a week.
In all this sun?
I'm a little worried, to be honest.
They're paying me six grand
To get the load to Boston.
That's a lot of money.
But if I get 'em there rotten
I'll be heading back west
With nothing but onions
On my breath.
I carried a
flora & fauna
of provisions,
many of them
pure, physical
insurance,
a sort of
antipsychotic
weighted blanket.
I carried them
across the country,
burning old peat bogs
as I tooled through
buffalo lands
on cruise control
past native grasses
and sun-drenched scrub.
When it was time
to turn around,
ancient cacti
helped me
back across the desert,
pitying me my
heavy load.
I like your socks, someone says to me,
What do you call that pattern, they ask,
Argyle, plaid, paisley?
No, that’s sleep, I say, that’s what
My sleep looks like, circadian rhythm,
Fly by night, circadian constellation.
Is that, they ask pointing, the mark of waking
Or of falling asleep? That, I say,
Is what an instant looks like,
The instant of falling asleep,
Slight as a moonbeam,
The moment of twilight turning to dark,
Of dark to dawn to sunrise.
Then nothing. All day nothing happens,
Solid colors here, all through this part.
Then day becomes dusk, dusk gloaming,
Then it’s night all over again.
Here, the moon sets, I roll over. Suddenly,
A meteor streaks overhead.
You see this brightness here?
That’s another asteroid, then another.
These are the meteor shower socks,
An excellent pair, but not the best.
Best are the ones I made
When the comet appeared.
Goodbye to the poetry of Beethoven!
The dog jartles, looking
At me like I just
Went after the mailman.
I’m a wasp in a nest of dirt
I’m the armadillo in your garden
Armadillo armistice
Armadillo armband
An armada of armadillos
Carried an armoire away.
I crossed my arms when
Neil Armstrong landed
By mistake in Armenia.
I clean my clothes in the sun.
I sharpen my nails on rusted wire.
I am a dangerous animal,
A vociferous vole. And
I am here to assure you
If, like me, you have
Lost your mind,
It can’t have gotten far.
I was a motheater, loved
Bugs and other caterpillars.
I planted a bunch of
Pills but none of them
Grew. I sought transit across
A star, pinprick on its
Glaring tongue.
After I suggested baking soda
You used instead my cologne
To wash your hair. We
Traded old photos from the fridge
For blue skies reflected on future lakes.
Querido,
If when my
Brow no longer rises
Like milk
In steepest tea
Unbarb the wire,
Steady the skreeking gate,
Prescribe my final burn.
A universe of
eponymous tuber.
I've got limbs stemming
out from me, from
my muscles in every
impossible way. Am
I to climb with them? Or are
they for others to do the climbing?
JBR.com 