Thursday, March 19, 2015


Drought on Death Planet

Four years later, I am parked
out front of the unbelievable
mall.  I would giggle to my
neighbor if I had one, whisper

about such an ineluctable mis-
reading.  Whispering between the
gasps and giggles.  Gasping for
further imagination, fantasy.  But

now?  Fuck it if I am not in an
old Ford pick-up.  What a truck!
My grandfather’s, which I have
driven all the way to Little Rock

(at sweet 16) to attend Chemistry
Camp (to which one has to be
nominated).  Downstairs, more
plates crash against a very

unimaginative wall.  The plates!!
There must be an endless assort-
ment of them.  “How can this be?”
I wonder, glancing at my watch

as if I’m actually wearing one,
growing a beard as if I can.
Tomorrow is done.  It’s over
today.  Yesterday the rain

spilled down until shortly after
noon.  And then, spiders burst forth
from each and every administrative
wall on Death Planet (each wall

here is made strictly of concrete)!
Orange globs of them, spewing
forth in waves like flame after
flame.         And then....?

Well,  you can see for your-
self now.  Here!  Have a look!