Wow the U.S.
is a madhouse on ice
Ghosts
run like mice
through the streets of Jerome
Phoenix is gone,
smothered in drug-clouds
My buddy is twisted, sleeping
in buckets
Driving is easy,
like navigating a birthday
Cake when you're 8
The highway is ringing; my tires sounding
a dial tone,
A monotone opera
I can tune my guitar to the sound of the road
But I don't belong here
It's too easy to communicate;
everybody thinks I'm being presumptuous
when I talk to them in Spanish
And it never occurs to them to think
that maybe I've started
thinking in Spanish,
And that responding in Spanish
is a habit, I have no
interest in un-
learning
(in fact I might even be afraid to lose it)
And that I haven't actually "returned,"
but am only physically here
to take care of
business,
while
my heart remains gone,
broken and melting
(There are cracks in the Jell-o
nobody sees)
But they look at me with eyes that have never been anywhere,
sunken in tree wood
Hateful and crazy
Jealous and cold
Gringo distrustful
An igloo in flames
And I feel like I'm standing
in front of an open
freezer
Just speaking in English
And it never occurs to them
that returning to the language of contention
and constant explanations
is like breaking into
prison
to bum a smoke from
the inmates
who couldn't kill me the first time
It ain't no kinda fun
Even the Natives, the obvious
Indians,
Texicans,
Moxicans Nuevos,
Arizones,
Navajos,
Apaches immersed
in their gringo-less
grievings
Even them,
displaced as they are
on the Booze Reservation,
their children's
voices
sing with clear ringing
English
in the juicy-fruit aisle
at the end of the
world
Grape?
Or the blue one?
They sound like cartoons—
accents like mallrats
crystal & clean,
clear as TVs
And I wonder if I wandered
onto the set
of a sitcom, some
haughty production,
instead of into a small grocery
store in W. Texas
for coffee and
beans
It ain't no kinda fun
But it's not all bad
Though the prices exist on the very
fringes of credulity;
unbelievable numbers
staring
at me with malevolent
loathing,
everytime I look
anywhere,
to the point that every store feels
like a casino
mixed with a math class
Laundry is easy
You can do it at the hotel
You don't have to give a bag of it
to a lady with dirty hands
for pickup tomorrow,
or wring out your
socks
over a sink full of scorpions
And you have or maybe get to
pump your own gas
And seeing those people
really was
great
Bomber at the #1,
I thought,
staring at the back
of his greaser-mop
refugee haircut,
what's up with this madman?
Is he even in line?
And then he turns around,
and it was like finding
a Teddy Bear
Hermano!
Amigo!
A million years!
Pain!
You look like a roadmap!
Your pavement has aged!
And we had a smoke
by the van,
and I talked to his kid
And Christopher
Christopher!
Sobbing
like a bear,
I embraced him like a war buddy,
my fellow veteran of need,
because he lived in a cave
and understands
what it is
to be a burden,
unwanted
Smoking with him
on the Waterfall Steps
was like looking
for daisies
in a minefield of weed,
even though I didn't smoke
weed with him
(only a rollie),
though it's legal now
in AZ
I saw him when I left
He was walking down the hill,
at the exact time
and place
I was turning to leave,
and so I honk at him and shout,
"hey gringo!"
And he waves back
and says I'll call
you later,
but I said I was leaving,
and he winced as one deeply
pained,
and I told him I loved him,
and I told him
I meant it,
as I maneuvered my van
on the steep, twisty
hill,
and I wanted to bring him
to Mexico,
Heaven,
get him out
of this freezer,
but there was no way,
and the cops and the traffic
waited like patients
for the moment
to pass
And then walking to the Fire Station
I saw the punk-rockabilly
skater
whose name I can't remember
though he was the first
person I met
there
And talking to him,
it was like
no time
had
ever
passed
anywhere,
and there at the
moment was where
we were spoze to be,
standing there talking
on the sidewalk
with one tooth
still missing
And Jennifer in black,
standing on her back porch,
talking about travel and
Javelinas—
Seeing them was great
And I wish I could drag them
through the river
of fire
that is constantly weeping
inside my heart;
I could not join them
Will they ever join me?
Where would we meet?
On the River Euphrates?
Sweden?
The street?
And the horrible knowledge
of the infinite end
is the only
thing keeping
the ground on my feet
Cuz I didn't want to be in Illinois either,
on and off for 10 million
years,
but if I hadn't...
And while it's easier to drive up
here in Henry Miller's
"air-conditioned
nightmare,"
so easy, in
fact,
that road rage is actually
possible,
which it isn't in Mexico
(no time to get angry
when you're driving
a jackhammer
through
a popcorn maker)
And so it's easier to drive
And the kids all sound like smart TV shows
And while everybody understands
every word that comes
out of my mouth
(which is not what I'm used to)
I'm afraid they have less clue than ever
about what I am trying
to actually say
1 November 2022
Moriarty, New Mexico
