Don’t Paint Your Wagon: Off, Off Broadway

Messages of love from the deep, hot biosphere,
up-welling valentines of hydrogen sulfide
and methane and others, disperse, collect, confide
their affection to our fish, birds, smother their fear,

wrench their diffuse part from their mechanical gear,
bones, eyes, hearts, the dense stuff from around the outside,
and take the thinnest part, the real part from inside,
down through the rock sky to the molten atmosphere.

I hate being alone. I’ll miss the birds and fish,
and trees here don’t care if I sing in the morning.
But as this place becomes the surface of the Moon

the lonely trees will disappear, too. Then I’ll wish
I’d sung to their indifferent branches. Their warning,
that lonely indifference, is a cold blue jazz tune.

Hot Red Earth, Cold Blue Jazz

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Real Estate Gothic


What Is Love? 6—Broadway Diamond