Plain American Language

I cut a sliver/of WC William's finger
and placed it inside/my philosophy...

Tuesday, July 22, 2008

the last travel poems of chile, from valdivia, june 2008, this one's a little journal-y

On a Plane from Santiago to Valdivia

Past Rancagua, Chillan, Pucon
a stop-over in Osorno,
where are you Carl?
I'm thinking again of where
I was born but never lived.
Where is your eye
your steel man your encouragement
for the vitality of a stinking city?

I grew up in suburban green,
wore it, wear it like a college graduate's robe,
and dream of it, too
as a divorcee might of marriage:
afraid of its slow pains yet clinging to its blankets.

There is this city
next to my dream
so where are you to tell me
what to look for in the people
in the eyes of my neighbor
who I don't yet know.
When we land,
what will be the first thing I touch
besides ground?

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