Sunday, September 14, 2008

New: The Lake to the Sea

The Lake to the Sea


That lake, that’s the place where I went with the sticks of perfume,
Selling little skulls on delicate steel chains, also impermanent tattoos.
I didn’t sell glass bongs, as the State would allege. I have a red Buick sedan from
1995 in my head. A doctor of medicine is in the back. He’s selling me things
That I refuse to forget. He’s a science-fiction man. I’m gonna start with
The pulmonary state of motivation. It’s on a map. Nebraska hangs over
The waters, then snaps flat. I’m angry at myself for forgetting. You get told
How stupid you are, again and again. Then you’re on to something.


-------------------------------------------------When the doctor says,
“Stop,” I’m willing. The road runs a thousand meters along the cold Atlantic,
Then stops dead. The houses aren’t built for winter. I say to the doctor,
“Now, please go outside if you want a cigarette.”

The snow’s setting in
Planar over the ancient sea.

“We should sleep out here,”
The doctor recommends:
“You’ll run the engines if it gets bad.”

“Look, Doctor,” I say, “there’s only one engine in this sedan.”

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