Notebook Crackles: 16
At dawn a smudge-gray sky...
bent and bending... tall yellow grass.
The rise-up from thin mattress
over criss-crossed rope difficult
for those with trick spines.
Residua of a furry-tongued town
surrounded by vast bone-tree plains:
piles of laundry scattered by wind,
small brown bottles left in trail ditches,
empty half-barns, canvas-on-pole habitations
for red-eyed hard luck sod-'n-bible solitaries.
The sky pours. Writhe-smile mourners,
the emaciated living... great coats and slickers...
a funeral in rain and wind. The Caddy hearse
brought in from North Platte... stuck in mud.
The priest's black hat is blown to another county.
Later, on some jeweled Sunday after church,
in an early evening Walmart parking lot shadow,
ghost-horsemen, creak of saddle... distant
thunder like an angry god's stutter-mumble.