American Idyll

I wish I lived

out in the country

biscuits, coffee

feet beclovered.

Baby bees. Wood bees. Kill-deer,

the bird.

 

Honeyed cunt,

twelve-string guitar melodies

heard from that porch

No thermometer

no phones or light

No measurements

No shadows with false light

 

Yes I wish I lived

up in the mountain village

— Colorado, yes –

throngs of stone

summer snow…

 

“My house would be

a hostel for angel

and devil alike”

 

Trails lead here:

you forgot your horse

your wagon, your bike, your phone:

there is nothing here to

travel away from.

 

Chinese molasses

drips from my cock.

Flocks of sheep,

few people, a

retrogression?

I think not.

 

 

© 1976 Thomas N. Dennis

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