The Span

vertigo is not such a foreign feeling
feeling at transition
the only voice, water, white-noise
all things flow into me
red rust crinkles under my knuckles, is caught in the sun, sparkles a
moment as it is lifted, and upward breaks with the horizon, the world, is
lost in the sun and lonely blue empty sky
The earth, like reality, wants to pull me to it's bosom
and force me to nurse on bitter elixir.
I cannot hear you my beautiful lie
wind provides a symphony of despair.

I was driving or I mean I am driving
why do I always do that
After too much I can't
eventhink
I can't stand or think straight
Maybe, then I shouldn't stop
Sonoma
Sonoma
Then I stop
Stop thinking, stop a pounding chest
I threaten to crack out of my ribs
or my face, to slowly crystallize and
Blow off, particle by particle
I'll make up for it
We'll spend most of our time
sleeping in Sonoma

San Francisco Peak

A white dog tooth jutting from a barren plane
It should be so beautiful and
menacing
plane, not broken, should so exquisitely describe existence,
and seperate
we cling trivialities
teflon resists social contact
The grand barriers prevent
even acts of love
if you let them
the plane has been different though
the plane will be
sterilized of sentient life intelligence
disrupts the natural chaos theory

Painted Desert

Strata
deliberate layering
of earthen tones sediment
deposited across time
and oceans
oceans and time
oceans of time
saline dictates cadences
preserving what should be forgotten.
The literature for treatments
says the medicine is derived from salt.
This landscaped hell,
sand trapped as rock.
Water has forsaken this place
wind claims
few refugees
Purgatory of all things.

long Fuck me

still driving
Myself: You're a pretty good looking guy. You've got good hair.
Me: Well thanks. You look younger than I remember.
Myself: I am. Don't flatter yourself though.
Me: Where are you going?
Myself: I think you could make a good story. But I have my doubts. Want to hear a joke?
Me: Yes.
Myself: You are a pragmatic problem.
Me: Thank you.

Panhandle

Days, weeks?
How long has it been without
sleep? I've been lured out
by a woman I can't make out
from a distance. Here
in the deserts of west Texas
where the stars are truly separated
among many, all roads lead
to grandious climax.
I see you spread on my dash,
An invitation to escape.
My trail is marked
by anti-psychotics, tranquilizers
and anti-depressants
I am revolving.