summer of thieves,
murderers, desperados, lawyers, Christians,
petticoated astonishments, border ruffians, jayhawkers, Georgia
firecrackers and our poems were a
load of rock salt, fired across the sky.
summer of learning
to speak the language
of the drug that enslaved
us, all strangled by sorrows, beguiled
by rivers, enchanted by seas, lured by
roads, to infinity – for to seek the jewel
of clarity. It was the summer we hauled off
our overcoats and rolled up our sleeves.
summer of love
songs and Confederate waltzes
Of airships and hypnotists, palm
readers and extortionists love letters you
wrote, while starved for mystery, to clairvoyants.
It was the summer of Osama Bin laden
masturbating over pictures of Whitney Houston
endless summer, our
endless summer on MySpace –
Jasmine, orange, wax anise, the
pornography of exorcists. And an ever
present presentiment of disaster. Hoopties, jalopies, of
a puppy in a poke with a bullet of
bread. Where there was no exquisite beauty without some
strangeness in the proportion. In that hazy, golden, long drifting
summer. That endless summer of MySpace.