saturday, february 9

the cellular telephone is a powerful innovation
you can sit by one while it doesn't ring
just about anywhere you feel like
from here i can see all the way to the
front of this half-empty display case
for boilerplate boulder eccentricity

headlights slide behind plateglass reflection
crosstalk conversation stutters
and clatters over me
here's the unity and identity
of all things laid bare
everything is hollow;
eggshells and empty beer cans

i can hear tires crunching
through the crusted snow outside
some house in nebraska
in an hour the keg will arrive
the county cops a little later

i hear the doppler drone of cicadas in the kansas summer,
broadcast football and lipsynch pop tearing at
shattered speakers, the slide of denim on skin
in some unexpected quiet instant,
the grind and shuffle of sheep eating corn
off the surface of a wooden trough
with eyes deader than disco used to be

dead as lottery tickets under glass counters,
the smell of gasoline near twilight
gravel road dust scuff under my shoes
county fairs, hospital floors
busted chairs and broken skin
cold coffee cupholder crumbs
fluorescent lighting
liquid crystal displays
dirty carpet
concrete

and this fucking poem.