excerpt from ?????

 

 

Ellen scratched at her knee where the mosquito had bitten her. She stared at the mountains encircling the ranch and at Dexter who sat sleeping in his camp chair, his mouth wide open and snoring. The air was heavy and humid from the passing of the thunder shower.

 “I hate this place.” Ellen said aloud to the border collie who looked up at her expectedly. The remains of her breakfast lay nearby. Flies were walking all over it and the congealed bacon fat on her plate kept the dog interested. A thin tendril of dust kicked up from the wheels of a 1977 Pontiac Bonneville coupe deluxe convertible as it careened and bounced wildly by the ranch on the only road out of here to Lewistown Montana. The neighbor’s radio blared an old Jimmy Buffet tune. Ellen cocked her ear to listen….

excerpt from ????

 

“all I know is Stosh asked Lee if he wanted a job helping him with the horses but Lee told Stosh he hated horses so Lee picked up his stuff and left town for parts unknown. Somebody said they might’ve seen a guy that looked like Lee logging for an outfit in Seeley Lake. Only this guy that looked like Lee had a beard and long hair so I don’t think it was Lee. Lee hated hippies.”

Gene looked across the bar and into the mirror. He seethed inside while looking back at himself- disgusted and bored. Gene listened to Pauline tell him again for the umpteenth time that she didn’t know where Lee was. Every time she told him there was a new twist where somebody said something and Gene just couldn’t listen to it anymore.

“Somebody, who?” Gene asked

“I don’t know. Just some guy who rolled into town all drunk and high.”

“what did he look like?”

“Like an asshole.” Pauline said. “He looked like an asshole- just like you and every other creep who comes in here. You all look like assholes to me. You want to know what he looks like? Look in the mirror. That’s what he looks like.”

Gene took another drink and glanced at the mirror. Pauline was right. He did look like an asshole.

Gene walked outside the Bonner Bar and lit a smoke. He wanted somebody to tell him it was going to be alright and that Lee was coming back to town with the money and he wanted to hear Lee tell everyone that logging was on the rise again but logging was finally dead and Gene knew it.  The mill was closing down and Marvin Purvis at the bar last week said there might be work in Juneau but Gene checked that out and there was no truth to it. Gene sat down on the curb with his beer and his cigarette and watched the sunset across the dirt and gravel parking lot. A cut over hillside glowered across the gash of river that led into the valley of the Clark Fork River with its torn down dam and the rock face of the blast cuts from the dam builders creating a froth of brownish white just before the wood debris eddied out into a swirl of backwash.

great poem….

 

Constantly Risking Absurdity

 

 Constantly risking absurdity

 and death

whenever he performs

above the heads

of his audience

the poet like an acrobat

climbs on rime

to a high wire of his own making

and balancing on eyebeams

above a sea of faces

paces his way

to the other side of the day

 performing entrachats

and sleight-of-foot tricks

and other high theatrics

and all without mistaking

any thing

for what it may not be

For he’s the super realist

who must perforce perceive

taut truth

before the taking of each stance or step

in his supposed advance

toward that still higher perch

where Beauty stands and waits

with gravity

 to start her death-defying leap

And he

a little charleychaplin man

who may or may not catch

 her fair eternal form

spreadeagled in the empty air

of existence

 

Lawrence Ferlinghetti