‘;
—we watched thunder storms on the porch,
sky green Kansas plains thunderstorms,
freight-train winds ‘n billowin’ wall clouds
grand-parent tales of the great flood of ‘51,
water risin’.
—mist blowin’ through the screens,
smell, the smell of rain.
water risin’.
writh-wrigglin’ through a chained up fence,
pushin’ up on the other side of an over-pass,
one tree, lots of trash,
Samuel Beckitt calls this “a blasted place”.
I stare at the knotted and gnarled thing,
while two fellow trespassers throw milk-jugs at passin’ cars.
highway speeds ‘n boredom.
a blasted place.
Boots squelch in the mud,
lookin’ out over the grounds,
muddy currents rushin’ flotsam past.
”no work today, boys, go home.”
water risin’.
a blasted place.
wrap your body ‘round hers,
she’s shiverin’ cold, boy,
can’t sleep without your breath in her ear,
can’t sleep without your skip-beat heart drummin’.
lost somethin’ today, boy,
ain’t gonna get it back,
mind the hands,
rubbin’ her stomach just makes you both cry.
wrap your body ‘round hers,
comfort ain’t comin’.
clutchin’ at dirt, uprootin’ trees,
hundreds of years slappin’ down into murky rapids,
rushin’ on downstream.
you ain’t had hundreds of years, boy.
water risin’.
a blasted place.
comfort ain’t comin’.
she’s got this baby-toothed smile,
posin’ by pop-culture sculptures,
addict skinny,
wig sittin’ wrong,
beggin’ for “Splash Mountain” one more time,
addict skinny,
translucent.
I’m tired.
scald-hot showerin’ n the middle of the night,
bangin’ on the wall to feel like somethin’,
shakin’.
water risin’.
a blasted place.
comfort ain’t comin’.
I’m tired.
I am tired.
