.
asphalt underlies so many
memorable longings and
madrid, montalban;
empty highway ninety-five
soaked in restless
sunlight and angry
ranchers’ dissatisfaction.
my roads, lift upon
.
lift, shift against a
subbase poorly laid.
asphalts stretch, alligator
thin skins a clever tease… my
roads do not run on and on.
my roads do not
wear out because they explode.
basrah loops as a flash
bright as cordite,
one fox running all out, one
tree out there waiting.
.
asphalt just lifts.
my road fountains and settles
back whole just in time to lift again,
disintegrating and settling, silently
and again, loops of exploding
asphalt.
.
how I
at times do long for
the men known, dead now or those
not quite dead, still here.
.
orphan poems 