Just another place…


We forge rivers through winter snow melt,
look for arrowheads in the desert

The oblivion before birth
is a different kind of heaven

No fear; the stronger the sentiment
the stronger the flavors

He diets when his pants get tight
(ah hot mustard, spicy onions!)

Her brown eyes shine
through the irrepressible brutality

Our wicked ecstasy
Our spectral, edgy gladness


We crossed all the rivers together
We sat under the trees

Watch it—you may freeze to death
in the mountains after falling

Afterwards just the same, well
maybe a little sadder

This is where they sat
the artist and his entourage

We flatten them out,
commit their features to memory

Over there, where they display those potato chips
It’s just another place of business now

-September 2, 2010-