You Will Want Like Cowboys
I will want like splinters,astonished spit, also like alphabets and minnows.You will want at smallness,also squirreling across the wire.Wantings in the wilderness!What did you think,words?You've seen it all before.That's my last duchess—all I want I've learned from her.I want all I've learned from her.Like Goya and churchyou will fever like derangement.You will lick no lessthe ecstatic, and you will grow no moreaccustomed to this dirty pursethan I to breathlessnessor pavement.There is Kansas in the wilderness.There is not cloudy.All day the fingering, there your gaze,there I will saddle upthe pillow, buckle, bobbin, tongueI wanted from.
Sunsets OffNothing, too, is a subject:dusk regulating the blankery.Fill in the nightish sky with ardent,fill in the metaphorical smell.The horizon leaves the sameimpression as runway: jet but air.I wake to a grain bin, the end is near:jimson and ditchweed, hog and trough.The first beer can is makinghigh hopes out of everything.No wheat is safe from chaff of this,hullwrecked in Hugoton, thinking of sod.
Biplane"raise high the roof beams"Medusa hauled out her musclingsand stole a femur or some great leg or other.None the ladder, she is a barn raised from contagion.Then from the sky there storms the stormer,plum-scared and Perseus. Watch that horizonfor all heads fall there: all ruins: all breaks.In a plain democracy blue skies are axes, axes are soap.Perseus is a stuttering tendency. Medusa is a sod ear,and the corral shudders with ponies: winged things.