Days went by when driving itself was a pleasure and when it
wasn't I would
Turn around for an instant-on a white silver screen
Men who can build tires from wood and turn nuts and dance,
who have seductive
Many toned voices thrown in the service of their lord, country, or
ranch foreman
Are traveling great distances to fight beasts
Like redskins or the brute Hector for the love of a red-haired girl.
Or when one mile was too far I had a reverie on a crest, houses
contemporary, glass-
I saw our roof way down there, below it the bed of a dry river
primordial, further
Down on the royal road Spanish cut heads till the hair peeled
loose.
The sun was pure enjoyment. Second gear,
Dropping in the little blunt hills of the massacre,
A cloud slowly pivots to the shape of a hook,
Like iron and oil so deliberately turning to that one house
Upon the leaping, spiraling planet.
