local 606

german 201, seven yrs delinquent


the incense graveyards make her
vlad tepes, and she is
defending the wax countryside
of religious candles. keeping them out
of the head. the grief

fighting, mute in the quiet violence. she’s small
and all of flesh, in the pit. an old
time-taking place while
clawing at the chambers,
hearing, in her own desperate breath–hot
and stale, there. hurry, employ

everything! she says. and dreaming,
from the impotence, of doing more, more
saving them, saving him more. she cries

to fold her face in
her hands. and cannot know. she put her face near
the grass in the sun to observe
the ants and closes her eyes because that is her

feeling. mandibles squirm, the thorax
and the abdomen nearly separate while
writhing–the simple eyes. when another invades

the body space, a thing to know
here in the film. it is a short-
circuit sound, the sear and a crack. it’s dangerous
because it’s real, and it’s real. in the morning

she gets him
breakfast, the small ones
for a dollar, and the coffee, the cup
is huge: i haven’t had this much
in years. she drives, and it is like the last

jeep, black as well, and the sky
is large, enough to keep
mountains, even. something old
is about it. and then it is early morning
through the canyon to make german

nine am in albuquerque, from six
am in taos, and she is flying near the star
lights, the quartz-flanked descent
to the rio grande. the sun
corners and the twenty
oz w the shot in the
dark for a dollar
tortilla, the kokopelli
litter the highway. one stop
on the way, one stop before sante fe. and now these

are the same and she is there when she
is here, and the sky is large, enough
to keep mountains, even.
something old is about it.
and then it is early morning.


This entry was published on August 15, 2014 at 4:40 pm. It’s filed under Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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