POEMS
I DRIVE WESTWARD
1.
I drive Westward. Tumble and loco weed
Persist. And in the vacancies of need,
The leisure of desire, whirlwinds a face
As
luminous as love, lost as this place.
2. The Tourist
On either side of the white line
The emblems of a life appear
Distinct: purpose like lodgepole pine
Competitive and thin, and fear
Agile as aspen
in
a storm.
And then the twilit harboring
In a small park. The room is warm.
And by the ache of traveling
Removed from all immediacy,
From
all
time, I as time grows late
Sense
in
disordered fantasy
The sound and smell of love and hate.
3. I, too, have been to the Huntington
A railroad baron in the West
Built this nest,
With someone else's pick and shovel
Built this hovel,
