On
The
Mojave

There was a landfill operation
going on that summer
dusty caterpillars squalling
in the heat
i watched you
bony river
from the levee where my burning shoulders stood
sweat-dry in the desert air
i’d heard you were sister
to the Nile, running north
and standing there
i half expected
pyramids among mesquite
and gilded barges shimmering
down your muddy throat
your water drew my body then
as now it draws my mind
to honor a patient ageless borning
in a dry fanged land.

 

Morning
Shastra

eggs on a plate
light sleet rattles fenders in the parkinglot
no coffee today, stomach burns
“if meaning is not everywhere
it is nowhere”
waitress tumbles tips
into a styrofoam cup
ballpoint “cindy” on the side
from the way she mutters
she loves the work.

cold falls through
the swinging door;
change tables to dodge the draft
sleet comes to rain sky like sludge
“cuppacoffee”
what the hell.
“his miracle is
when he is hungry he eats,
weary, sleeps”