1.
Eating pretty decent gelato in Albuquerque —
eh,
the less said of that,
the better. Cultural dissonance
is so
done.
2.
Together today in Taos
and we’re staring surprised
at a price tag
on an otherwise empty
white gallery wall.
It names artist, and medium, and size, and
also the name of the piece: “Triptych.”
It apparently cost someone
7500 dollars
to take it away.
“What’s the art here now? Why leave us
with the tag?” you say.
“Is this really just an empty wall?
If I hung just this tag
on my wall, my empty wall,
would that be art,
what they call found art?”
3.
Having gone on alone, God,
I lay me down
to be surprised:
awake in Grants at 10 PM,
jumping up to kneel and pray for a rug
of artificial chinchilla
chest hair. I will hang
jacla strands of perfect coral
and turquoise upon the ash gray fur
and feel like I’ve done something
unexpected. Thank you, Lord,
in advance, for that gift.
4.
I’ve just seen five old guys
in the streets of Gallup today
who have gray chest hair as thick
as my chinchilla rug,
and they’ve all got on
big bolos
that slap their fur as they strut.
Meekly, I put my jacla
in my pocket and button my shirt
as I answer a passerby’s question:
No, ma’am, I don’t know
where that is.
I’m not from here.
5.
Staring off across Socorro
toward the Jornada de Muerte.
That’s my next road.
I don’t know what I expect to see.
I turn left and drive.
When I come through the rolling hills,
past the flash flood danger signs,
and into the Valley of Fire,
a black spill spiked with green
covering obvious miles of the desert,
it’s as I could not have expected:
almost a bit of Hawaii dropped here,
and so close to the gypsum bleach dunes
of White Sands, so close
to the radioactive heart of Trinity Site…
6.
Wanting to see
what I did not expect to see —
that’s why I’m here in the scrub
above the mouth of Carlsbad Cavern
instead of being
in the cave
with everyone else.
I’m seated
under a ten foot tall tree
staring at lizards
darting around
under yellow flowers
that grow close to the hot sand.
It’s 102 degrees
above zero
and this is the only thin shade around
so I’m monopolizing it,
though the lizards
don’t seem to mind.
The ranger who pointed it out to me
as the tallest tree on the mountain
laughed and called me a “tree snob”
when I scoffed at the word “tree” to describe it.
I guess that’s fair enough,
though now
I’m thrilled to have found it,
to have had it
given to me
here where I expected to be
underground instead.
Why I prefer it,
I don’t know — maybe because
I’m alone
and not with the crowds descending;
maybe because it’s not
what I expected to see.
Dark Matter 
August 6th, 2011 at 4:43 am
Thank you Tony. I’m 39 years into the tortured artist phase! It’s difficult – to put it down. I’m neither educated (wasted youth) nor skilled in the formalities of verse, and I’m not a writer. Writing requires discipline, and what you see on that page is truly just projectile overflow, that ‘births’ itself in all of 5 minutes – and that’s the way I leave it. The words are honestly just a record of my journey, a way to make some sense of how I got to this point.
Thank you for taking the time to pop in and pick up crumbs… I’ll get around to the newer work eventually – some of those date back to the 90’s. meanwhile, I will continue to feast on your words slowly, a couple of works at a time. You are a very gifted writer – and many of your works speak ‘into’ the reader (me), and feed the hungry heart.
August 7th, 2011 at 11:48 pm
Thanks. kinda needed that tonight.
August 5th, 2011 at 3:02 am
If I hung just this tag
on my wall, my empty wall,
would that be art,
what they call found art?”
–
I fear that quite often, my pages would be more valuabe left naked / clean on my juvenilia – and at the very least it would display more comfortably in the outside world.
August 5th, 2011 at 7:38 am
I’ve looked at your site –I think you’re being overly hard on yourself.