The Wastch Sky


It was in Utah 1993, trying to get a little oblivion
With my father and the Wasatch Mountains
Drinking tea without the Mormons or Robert Redford

My jailer and I, false friends or friends, stole into a record store and he tried to turn me with LPs of old R.E.M.
But the resistance is strong and we survived
On contraband, bootleg cassettes of Jane’s Addiction

While my bead of a woman, false lover or lover, was in the shower
With anyone that looked like Eddie Vedder and they had
French artists send me post cards cause they’d seen the
Oncoming traffic and swerved from Woody Allen movies to divorce

But what matters now is the stone rolled smooth and
Round across hard-rock desert and the lost and broken
Necklaces of scattered ghost-bead juniper

What matters now is the one who laid at the foot of trees
And stared up trunks into branches and sky, perhaps now we see


Art by Christian Quintin


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