cacklin’ ezzie is made of earth and cotton
manure and plastic roses
she grows light: a garden of frying pans
warped, brillo-worn and grainy . . . an acre of flat-faced, pock-marked
sentries planted to catch and simmer the sunset’s
oily shavings . . .
a sight and scent that draws
the eyes and ears of every mon (or is it man?) grel
within miles:
t-shirted, bay-windowed, packed and clustered in truck, jeep and
motorcycle,
flying across the desert, ignoring the hunter’s horn,
tick infested and gritty,
heavy with fart and tobacco laced howls of desire
and wonder . . . a little fear (sign of a good dog)
gathering, pointing, scratching, waiting and grooming,
east of some familiar place each wants
to forget as they
spit and rhapsodize about tail and bush
until the dying sun is celebrated
with another twelve pack of
beer bottles exploding . . .
east of the city, away in the desert where
only a
“perfect crazy like -this one- could thrive.”
ezzie laughs on
torching her windows:
candles caged in blown out T.V.picture tubes:
the thin, yellow-gray petals of light
restless with fetal-like distortion,
massaging the spreading twilight
turning each rectangle
into a fox’s ruse:
a dangling pendant to seize and hold
the mongrels’ collective stare
transfixed and panting
the slide and pop of each eyelid
the extended tongues become more
question than
answer to,
“who or what had to die to make her like this?”
ezzie laughs on
four a. m.: the only hour capable of
dis-arming
her desire,
ezzie rises and climbs up onto her rooftop
where in olive oil and early morning alabaster
she bathes,
the sweep and flutter of her hand luring out
the silence and the wonder of
the star-infested black above and below
as each eye sparkles . . . . watching . . .
her iridescent body
shine
the mongrels howl and
bark until the last of the moonlight
delivers a glimpse of a desert goddess
born of the whispers and desires men dream to
know since they were little boys
staring into the bedroom window
images that always tease more than
deliver . . . then . . .
fade (always too quickly)
and (suddenly)
the mystery
disappears . . . so they continue to
loiter and howl
until the last
red taillight
of each,
truck, jeep and
motorcycle
recedes into
to the first
stirring of light . . .
of a (dreaded) new day
none want to face
and ezzie?
she sings (then)
chants (and) smiles into the
dawn,
as the moon
obediently bows
before
kissing the
desert floor
beneath
her
the sight of it moving
ezzie to
sigh, then
sleep
until the fading light
returns and a venus
rises up
once more
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