Wednesday, April 4, 2012

When We Walk in Memory Between Fire and Late Spring Ice

When We Walk in Memory Between Fire 
and Late Spring Ice

It is best to rebel against one's appeal to others.
The other choice is impossible: limber stone.

Then there are gifts we thought we always wanted
all our lives, like asbestos rainbow-roses cowboy shirts.

Oh to have the luck of a wing-wide golden hawk
locating home in a wafer-thin polished bronze mirror.

Then there was our weekend in the cradle of the West,
Dodge City... continental motel breakfast and off-brand beer.

Someone in the saloon noted that 1950's wallpaper
tends to foreshadow the clouds in our future.

We skipped the Calamity Jane look-alike contest.
The ethical dilemma of Old West boutiques is dreary.

We also passed up the seminar on Doc Holliday's
enduring physicality under most trying circumstances.

I just wanted to gnaw on her as she lowered ragged
cut off jeans... lured, as I was, by her Greek-Irish smirk.

The Western dress-up fad, its entire shabby premise,
with its fake public personas, leads to psychotic episodes.

We did stumble into a ready-made love narrative: this afternoon
I was enthralled by droplets of rain on high desert rock... eternity.

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