The Wastelander's Notebook, Vol. 2

luis

All summer
she brought me gardens
in her dress.

#

armadillo roadkill:
ants spill out their hole,
flat out scurry, fill maws
as they dismantle: snip armor--
skilled chefs scramble
in a dilly.

#

A small bird lands on the phone lines. And another. Another. They come:
bird
bird
bird

bird bird bird bird
bird bird bird bird bird bird bird bird bird bird bird bird bird bird bird

and in the yard, twelve feet below, all alone, and twitching:

cat.

#

a million stars
blotted out by my breath

#

Lorca with a thorn in his tongue
spits out shadows of bees

#

a single raindrop
somersaults
a butterfly

#

the children are snoring
as I write poems
on my bride's bare back

#

tinsel
trails
from the ass
of
the
cat

#

coffee in a Kansas gas station--
looking everywhere for home

#

glove in roadsie tree
waving at travelers
who never return

#

Christmas Eve--
one snowflake melts
in a stoplight

#

cat twitches:

grasshopper

#

zydeco!
even the dead are dancing

#

deer stop
car radio
on the highway

#

America's a page of Kerouac,
a Johnny Cash song in the fog:
disjointed dharma poems, cowboy khatru
in the mind unspooling like a paper roll
click-clacking under keys of Underwoods:
blind whitewalls run the passing lanes
and radio unravels its AM hymn:
haiku of toilet paper, cigarettes,
acu-weather and female deodorants:
America, America, you go on, go on
forever.

#

Sign in diner window, Quanah, Texas:

THE TRAIN'S RUNNING
THE FOOD'S GREAT
SO COME ON IN
IF YOU AIN'T ATE.

#

Boca Negra Canyon, West Mesa, Albuquerque, NM:

I hiked up to the petroglyphs with that damned David Thomson. He stared at the ancient rock art in the brutal heat, then announced: "When I get home at the end of a hard day, and I feel the disturbing urge to carve wiggly lines in rocks, I realize I'm feeling petroglycemic."

#

What the magnets on my refrigerator said:
spider with a mountain skin

#

fog lifts--

pine tree
steps forth--

and another!

#

we stop to watch
Cajun children
playing soccer:
rain
on umbrellas
sounds like clapping.

#

"So, the world happens twice--
once what we see it as;
second it legends itself
deep, the way it is."
William Stafford

See you next time, sports fans--same time, same channel.
If you dream a little dream of me, I promise to dream about you.
L

Comments

Luis (not verified)

Thank you, Janna. I am so happy the little book travels with you in dreamland. And Prudence...too bad we're not 14 again--call you up from the kitchen!

Luis

janna (not verified)

I have a huge pile of books stacked on the back of my comfy chair: 1776, Labyrinth of Solitude, the Bible, Spanish Verb Tenses, Journals of Lewis & Clark, Power of a Praying Wife, etc. Last night I was alone, it was one of those long evenings of trying to get used to a quiet house. I stared at my tower of books, needing some kind of comfort, and finally curled up under my down blanket with Wandering Time. I had just started it a few days before. Last night I enbarked on the first Spring. Although I've never seen an aspen, it was like reading a letter from a friend. This beautiful little book was one of the things I thanked God for before I fell asleep last night.

Prudence (not verified)

I'm slow. I'm almost finished re-reading Wandering Time. I loved A Definition of "Friend."
Thank you.
Prudence

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Book club members have been some of my most enthusiastic and careful readers. I’m thrilled to share my work with you, answer your questions and tell you some of the stories behind the stories. This is our spot, just for us. Here, we can chat:  If I’m nearby, I’ll come and visit your club. Otherwise, we can Skype, talk over the phone or email. Sometimes, I’ll send surprises or hold contests.

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