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those rodent grasses they’ve tunneled
those rodent grasses they’ve tunneledup out of the soil into breathing the wind leansthem like spectators toward the reaction
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so you didn’t like the radio electric
so you didn’t like the radio electricguitar sound waved into your earso you reached to change the diali’d so carefully on stationed off statickid brother let me speakwith the voice of inexperiencethe car follows the eyeacross white lines and lanes of frequencybecomes the drumstick that drumsa tempo on a drum made of pavement
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through all those minutes of sleep this
through all those minutes of sleep thishand this long pointer finger circled round the boulevard and tickedpast the same twelve addresses againand again and again cameto the twelve o’clock exit out of one drive around that wasthe entrance into the next and continuedagain and again pastthis shorter hand this thicker hand this slower hand thisthumb…
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serfs peasants tell each other death happens
serfs peasants tell each other death happensthe moment a body becomesa straw house shuckedfrom the life that had livedinside it as a hermitthe child marcellus heardat the death that happens in winter the lastbreath will be seen to riseas a puffed smoke from a chimney mouth as the ascetic soul leaves the house never to…
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when the air in the jungles of generic
when the air in the jungles of genericafrica was like waterthe spirit of something that wanteda language to tell itselfsomethingwanted the invention of an instrument to writewhat it wanted to tell itself so it wouldn’tforgetgotdown on hands and knees at the edgeof the air that flowed in a creek and inhaleda drink that filledthe glass…
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westbound
westboundthe prairies are the front of the carwheatfieldsand beyond the wheatfields grasslands growup out of the upsloped land and cover the hoodhalfway up the grasslands the foothills riseand fall where the hood buckleswhere the foothills collideinto the horizon the mountains are mangled where the front of the car crumpleswhere the snow veinsup the sides of…
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so there’s these eyes right
so there’s these eyes rightblue eyesand brown eyes and grey eyes andthere’s green eyes they look in through the windshieldbut you keep quiet in the shadows behind the pulse of the engine that drivesthe van likefrom between the seats in front rightmom’s in the driver’s seat she’sgot her hands on the steering wheeland she talks…
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you don’t care
you don’t carethat the sky will never again risenor descendthat while the sun will never again begin to climbfrom the base of the mountain upthat slope that facesthis way the moon willnever again falldown the other sideit doesn’t matterto you if today the sky beginsto stopif today the sun and the moon beginto standdistant flashlights…
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roadboys
roadboysby the false dawn timed by your headlightsyou’ll see the white distress of their thumbspull over and stop for themthey’ll watch the opening of the passenger doorthe spilling out of an offer of lightthey’ll wonder why you stopped for themyour brake lights will crestthe waves of their tears with clear redshine on their faceslike the…
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someone anyone
someone anyone look where the baby’s ati know the neighbor wantssomeone to like her too and you can pitchyourself to her like a used car later you can pitch yourself like a vacuum cleaner like a set of pots and pans but notright nowdidn’t anyone hear that first sound like a thunderrumble in the far…
Jake's Flea Market 