errol miller
CARTHAGE
In whose name these stories
onward to other stormy cities
the last known sun at waterhole
chewing up my carcass a shadow-riding cowboy
far away from Amherst's clay-red brick
and whirling looms the landscape
bends and dances away like clusters
of erotic ladies only in mirage
a man of letters living off the land
a man of letters buying fixtures
from a hardware store in Galveston
comes the wrecking crew to Paradise
and the wagon wheels keep turning
and the evening breeze stampedes
stomping around Texas and Oklahoma
like mad hairy storks elated
speeding through the mercuric night
trying to outrun deprivation
and loneliness in a 1947 Kaiser
to the left a small dirt road
to the right an Interstate
towns fastened to the Red River
you can feel their pulse
strapped in like fools to a Pinto
smelling of beer and cigarette smoke
as fat and faded carpenters from Mississippi
prepare hickory exhibition stands
for the night-watch
and other irregular journeys
through the tangled azure plains.
