Thursday, January 23, 2014

4964. YOU MAKE THE EDGES

YOU MAKE THE EDGES
This runs fast and I have no stop : no intention
or need either. I will go past you like the bubbling 
stream in a fury, the babbling brook in a race.
Just yesterday, I saw your wind-vane face piercing
 the warrantless highway, and nothing was done
towards your violations. The toll-taker had fallen
from angina pectoris, and now they surmise he may
in fact be dead. Like Lyndon Johnson with long
white hair; it's present, over, and what do I care?
-
My mother's best friend was a Mexican pistolero.
He died saving a coyote from the trench-warfare
of modern-day savagry and modern-day doubt.
-
This runs fast, and I have no stop.

No comments: