in packard skin

 

in packard skin reflected
mirrored in the sheen,
alone with only the desert
desolation filled her eyes,
taking gold braid lasso
began to be fluid
with rope,
legs damp under nylon cover
breasts swelled in warm lace,
remembering that match box town
that ignited under her touch,
dust rose,
she had claimed the sun
heat closed about skin,
a game without kisses
and dead flower grief,
heaven would know
of her crimes
the dead that where still afraid,
in a packard skin reflected
spice tainted tongue
needed moisture,
as lasso swirled in frenzy,
acrid fragrance of death
chose to pursue
waiting and smiling,
mushroom column
elevated behind her
it to
reflected in a packard skin

Jon Knautz – Still Life

Steven Spielberg – Amblin (1968)

Low Rider To Infinity

thoughts on this bitter hour

from the depths i saw her face

beer spilled on teardrop tank,

froth edged hand,

hand  grasped can green

as leaves that wove imagination,

playful solitudes

led to the clench of hearts

now without heavens blue

as it paled,

bowing head shades in place

i understand why the violets lean,

now i depart

engine a cylinder cycle

of rushing over blacktop,

anger was faint,

as would be when you lose

someone,

clearer than blossoms depart

a sweet quiet eye

that i often kissed,

a rubber swerve and smear

a prod to concentrate,

your nearness to me wonderful

now i had remembered

Lice

road lice
gnawing blacktop
crawling lines
of infinite nowhere