~

VALLEY OF DEMOCRACY NO. 12

rawclyde

!

Strolling around on the creosote plains of forever

crunching dry turf, snapping dry twigs in my endeavor

to be swallowed up by the desolation and pure blue sky

of this stark land that, like a homerun, hits me in thee eye

~

I’m no cowboy chasing cattle nor an Indian planting corn

I’m just the strolling aftermath seeking to be reborn

dead ashes of a camper’s campfire melting into the grit

the wink of a motionless lizard just before she up n’ split

~

The wind plays a tune upon the piano of my fear

that thee American Dream has left me alone standing here

wondering why it doesn’t seem worth pursuing anymore 

such a pretty thing & such an expensive whore

~

Well, be it as it may, a swift tiny jet way up, way up there

has a big rumble that the pilot is oh so willing to share

with the lone drifter drifting in the creosote bush way way down below

i crink my neck and spot the jet and wave, “hello hello hello!”

…

from a love song to the american lizard

(copyright clyde collins 1999)