Photo by Mirza Polat

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wyoming

old grandad reversed on the window by bottle shine calls me into the bar. the air inside is freighted. waiting on a dark god looking for a ripe heart to pluck. was told the luck of my paternal forebears was god fearing until i found in spilled remembrance they attended church as fending off one less spat. weathering jigsaws of complex dispatching. one sneaked smokes. worked in the mill. tacked between kidney stones and pound cake. the other played college ball. kept a brown pint on a high shelf. never pet his dogs. i see them under windblown trees beside a length of mended fence. barns full of mud daubers. unamended words hurled at dusk. knowing sidereal sway won’t cure need. trying to take in the striven lift of birdsong. always undelivered desiderata. dust in the memory play flecks my eyes. heat rises on my tongue to forward sweetness. to the inside view out on a mirage of sea too wide to swallow. i nurse my last drink into golden hour. measure thinking across the chronicle of short timers laying down fragments. yoked to dolors and peaks between syzygies. each the recurse of a fabricated isthmus now stirred in me. salvaging selvage. unraveling self at a tapered edge.

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wyoming

a special picture of my chest will look for occlusions. abnormal narrowing. localized enlargement caused by choices that led to waning. measuring woe handed down. defect in convo with heartbreak. that love’s not what it’s cracked up to be. they’re worried about the risk of rupture or rapture. the more-is-more moment that can’t be contained. will use a dose of profusion. ductile rare-earth elements to spare my glands. have ditched the word nuclear to remove bad feelings. ask if i’m claustrophobic. is there metal in my body. intentional or by accident. stints. shunts. pacemaker. what music i may want to allay industrial banging cycling on and off. i waver between miles and beck. but go with beck. miles needs hush for the notes he doesn’t play. outside the scanner my water moves down many different tracks. protons always spinning. each with its own tune. which in magnetic terms makes me neutral. but once inside — prone on a litter. squall blooming overhead. upbeat clouds beneath. suspended between weathers like a witch to be set on fire — my nuclei will spin in step. the current in my veins traced with a contrast agent. a unified desire that tilts by throbs to resonance phenomenon. switched off and waves jump back. all caught by their fancy antenna. i close my eyes as i’m pulled into sonic layering to meet the infinite horizon. it takes the vim of eleven formula ones to conduct these opposing forces. shooting for stillness. short echo time. bright blood pulses. sequences measured in teslas. i see a little dog pull back a curtain. a mix of blue and yellow. truth and fear. patina of wealth. vibes of greed. greenlit for a seasonal death in the performers room backstage.

                   güero, where are you going? qué onda güero.

i resist the bridge. where every car in memory has a window knocked out. the glister of glass underfoot. my mind drifts to trees. magnolias mean liking what summer did to skin. rocky mountain junipers are abstract adventure in the open range of foraging deer. ponderosa pines — needling black, the smell of butterscotch. aspens in sync with juddering gold. autumnal frenzy before losing color. upstaged by the bling of cowboy belts. their stride through the off-white dust of a dream flutters my lids. winning praise for not being bucked.

through headphones i’m prompted to hold my breath while knocking bends the structure of my overlays. to grab sectional imaging in each direction. sagittal like an arrow. coronal like a window. spin-lattice relaxing to subatomic twirl. i echo the yin side of yoga steering clear of more demanding flows. toes dipped in curves of a chakra color wheel. seeking birth in my breast. the promise pitched as refreshment by big data that wants me to buy again.

i’ve entered helenic airspace. displacing what was past and pure. gods announced by the din of their smithies. the rhythm of their temples. the circle-eyed beings and hundred-handed ones. mind bigger than flying. feels like breathing the thin air of myth in parley with the firmament. knowing we still tell time by lunations that declare the arrival of blood.

                   where it’s at? i got two turntables and a microphone.

all scissors now and no paste. my edge no longer cutting. contemplating going dark. meeting halfway in the tavern by the onramp. in the splendor of the fault line. in a pool with foam noodles. trading in small alarms. in edible orchids. bespoke cosplay. i’m a honeyed puppet pressed by air. jumping the fourth wall to catch myself facing footlights. captured by daguerreotypes. explained as a lubricating tallow growing elevations against tidal flooding. in unceded terrain. rejecting easel-sized that i may rise like the monument of a wreck. pictured as vibration below their surface. smear on sonar. more wind.

the paper in the dumpster tells me to seek the river. the one with the migrating birds. i’ll be safe in the revolving door of its depths. yesterday i reshuffled the cabinet. hired the gal with cuff links. she speaks farsi which is useful these days. and helped move oranges at the choice intersection that evades gridlock. everyone going this way feels clever. generous. a cut above dysfunction. the news predicts it won’t be the cyclone that does me in. or the virus. or derelict infrastructure. but a self-inflicted gunshot when the tabloids reveal the bit player in my clandestine life.

my connection is delayed. i drift among a covey of nuns safe in their flaps and folds with unspent loyalty points. hoping for upgrades. a collected fount transposing doubt beyond the fore edge of their text. a frozen rictus fronting the floating quality of a lawn. next week my tribe will age out of the workforce. shortage putting pressure on chocolate and cheese. this is sweet music for phlebotomists. wages going up! unless robots get there first.

it dawns on me the nurse is saying with a soft joy we’re done. my body glides out from their big toy. i’m told to drink water. there’s food downstairs. they’ll email findings. it’s started to rain.

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