Wastelander Aspen II
7/06/2009
Wastelander Aspen II


The Yeah Yeah Yeahs
Franz Ferdinand
The Thermals
Manchester Orchestra
Tiny swallows at Starbucks
making a circus
in the sky.
Huge mayfly
the source of their enthusiasm
sitting on my finger
being very friendly.

Nebraska! Home of Hot Cars!
At every stop, a rod:
red Challenger,
red Camaro,
red Firebird,
red SS Malibu.

#

Muse
The Black Keys
NIN
Bad news still doggin’ us:
the storms we drove thru yes
terday blew our big pine tree down
onto the neighbor’s roof.

Of course, the traditional Urrea Wen-Fu view
would dictate that the pine tree
could have fallen the other way & crashed
thru our roof & busted open my office
& soaked all my notebooks and research but only
Swooned for a nap on the neighbor’s garage.

Zen aqui, amigo!
Wabi Sabi, sabe?

#

Welcome to COLORFUL Colorado!

Colorado loves me.
The eastern plains
soft yellow under heavy grape/gray skies
can heal me.
Bring it: rain, lightning, Rockies,
buffalo, aspens, magpies.
Bring it.

#

Here it comes: Colorado rain.
One million miles of the scent
of wet soil, drenched
hay. Prairie incense.

#

Magpie runs across I-76
too fat & lazy to fly.

#

Suddenly, The Angel of Writing
revealed herself to me
above the Colorado plains.
Her sword
was sharper than cold wind. She
gave me a dispensation.
They can’t touch me now.
We pull into Bella Luna’s rancho,
Castle Rock.

#

FATHER’S DAY.

The most glory-drunk hot Colorado
morning. Nothing
but big blue light.
Wind like ocean surf
coming thru the pastures & pines.
Cricket hinges squeaking rusty,
grasshopper ratchets
clicking up the sun.
Even the dogs know it’s perfect.
The big red bull, not so much.
But the barn cat
rolls in garden-love, looking to
rip apart some butterflies.
& hummingbirds
inspect their reflections
in the kitchen windows.

Fam buys me a Ray Charles CD &
off for Aspen.

#

I almost shout, “Deer!”
but it’s only a
bus stop bench.

#

The addicts
speed to Starbucks.
That. Right there.
Do you see it? That glacier smile
up there? Snowpack like teeth?
That great western wall of mtns?
That
is what I think about
every day.

I cannot not
be happy seeing the face
of my guru/girlfriend/muse
the Holy Rocky Mtns.

Now we ascend. Van says,
“What, are you kiddin’ me?”

#

Is it foolish to feel love
just because
the landscape
turns vertical?

#

Tailings from 1,000
dead gold-mines like
blonde beards
on the slopes
w/ arsenic in their whiskers.

#

Cinderella accuses me
of making the trips more difficult
by bringing things like
Venus flytraps
but I know
I make the trips more complex,
more interesting &
weird.
The soul likes
weirdness.

This soul does, anyway.

#

So many lodgepole pines
killed by drought and beetles, but
still standing, gray
exclamation points
in this long green paragraph.

#

Dylan: “Well my heart’s in the highlands….”

Big kids keep their earbuds screwed in
As I keep bellowing, “That’s so cool!”
Nature. So
BO
RING.
#

Arkansas River meanders the back country.
Feeling mild.
Pauses to meditate
at beaver dams.

#

Dead gas station.
Dead motor court.
Dead truck.
All white.
All poems.

#

Tha Arkansas, man—right at that bend
by the old log cabin gone
curvy as rubber in the corners—
is the kind of river
you could shake
hands with.

#

All right. That’s it.
A taco truck in Leadville.
GOOD LIVING AT
10,200 FEET.

Mexico wins.


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