If It's Going to Do Any Good
Stars are embers of the abyss.
Elko: an old man in an old hotel
sits a crooked wooden chair.
From his corner room window:
drinkers pass to heart-jolts.
Or to cheap rooms like his.
Or to car dealerships, half-polished,
road-battered sixties Cadillacs.
That patch of October moon makes for crazy.
Or it is a farmhouse basement room,
sepia photographs of boxers throwing
scorch-face jabs and lightning hooks,
magazine covers of a lethargic Marilyn,
cigar boxes filled with lacy bridal garters...
a farmhouse with the farm sliced-away.
Upstairs a woman kneels at a bathtub...
lathers an ears-back spaniel.
Stop pretending there's a reward out on you.
Lexington, Nebraska: a one-story run-down
brick motel... a crusty south side window.
It's Halloween. It's raining a dead-fish river.
Miserable sobbing clouds with a grudge.
A homecoming king and queen speculate-
nervous about the bed and bugs,
switch on the TV, hold hands.