Lovelock
Sonnet
.
. . with Chris in mind . . .
Love can lock you down or out and so what
can we do about that, honey? Take impulse all
the way to some misdirecting Tambourine Man?
There is such misdirection in the atmosphere
we seem to share.
It reminded me of listening
to Jimmie Dale Gilmore & Mudhoney
covering Townes on Buckskin Stallion driving
the western shore of Lake Yellowstone.
And then there were the Upper and
the Lower Falls.
Sometimes we fall by
accident, sometimes by grand design. I fell
for you like a child, something burning in the
fall.
The Burner aeronauts in Lovelock had yet to crash
their private planes into the desert plains of
Nevada.
Dear Iris,
You don’t know me but I know you, kind of,
reading your poems while Wyoming through guess
where?
Wyoming! in
Yellowstone if you really need to know.
Last night sharing fire and beer with splendid
young people
from my home town, Grand Rapids (Michigan
if you really need to know). Talked of redwood and trees
and I didn’t have to tell them but did
that the Giant Sequoia in Yosemite
are not the coastal Redwood south & north
of San Francisco where I live now &
even in San Francisco in the Arb in Golden Gate
Park
& just now in Yellowstone sprinkle
read “sequoia sempervirens” & want to
thank you
for observing the important distinctions.
Dionysian
Sonnet
An expert says you should feel it, feel
a thing accomplished and controlled. Kind
of like revealing yourself to Dionysian Love.
I promise to feel accomplishment!
And control.
Control, do we truly need
doubt in the presence of that many already
too many?
Control? Control? Are you there?
Oh my dear, Control has left me swinging
in the wind as the old hanging stories go.
Have I control of my desire for you and your
sweet self?
And by self I do mean, really, your
inner beauty, as expressed so expressly
by your shapely hips, and O! the swinging of
your apple-ripe breasts and that lovely thing
lying and inviting, just a short distance, below.
The Speedway at
Edmore
She was heading straight for Edmore
& the races at the Speedway there
She had the top down on her T-Bird
Michigan wind in her hair
She had her cap set for a driver
The one she met that one time at the bar
That bar with a deck out by the river
He said that she should see him race his car
Chorus:
Oh that mean
old Speedway in Edmore
Where
those stock cars slither through their turns
Hear
that souped up throaty roar
You can taste
the tire burn
That was what she was intending
She’d never dreamed that she would go that far
Not only all the way to Edmore
But just to see some redneck race his car
Her own sweet neck was more the hue of honey
Her T-Bird robin egg soft blue
She bought it when she had some money
And way too much of nothing else to do
Repeat
Chorus
That nothing else had drove her kind of crazy
& she wasn’t fully sure he was the cure
But it sure beat getting soft and lazy
Of that she found herself quite sure
It may have been his dreamy eyes
& how he kept avoiding hers
The way he stroked his longneck bottle
It’s just a thought, but it occurs
Repeat Chorus
She wondered later how she’d done that
How she ever let it go that far
But then again she’d never had a redneck
Not even one who raced a car
Afterward, her heart was doing the racing
Splitting lickety in her breast
She’s made her mistakes, we all have
But this one wasn’t quite like all the rest
Final
Chorus:
Oh
that fine old racing course at Edmore
Where
a heart can slither through its own peculiar turns
Let
go its own sweet throaty roar
& you can
taste its honey blossom burn
The Broncos
in North Platte
Why do the girls wear halter tops &
Lucinda Williams hats at the game in Denver?
Of course, the camera will find them, fast.
The WiFi at the Country Inn is not
acceptable.
I do accept it though because
all I’m really needing is to post a score
& pay some bills & both can wait upon
a significantly stronger signal.
Impossible you say, but you have failed
to explore the full potentiality of
the goodness of wherever it was I bought this
carnitas & the ‘9ers to follow. (They lose.)
Salute with me the inheritance of the sisters
Stroh
& regret their fabled malt’s descent to
Milwaukee.
