torn labels

male bear -- leg 4

it’s a clear morning and there’s no weather
but for a cold breeze that blows
th sun up th backs of mtns. not much of a sunrise –
just a pop of chilld light over th horizon.

behind th buildings and across th street, over th train
tracks and around here in every direction
th grassy hills roll upwards to become steep forests
that climb and climb up
to end in rock faces and snow-capd summits
way th hell up there. mtns and more
and more snow accumulation meets skies and glaciers and lakes
and waterfalls might as well go down forever.  

I pass my truck, which is parkd in front of a convenience
store. camping gear and Pelican cases packd w/photo equipment
strain against th rear window. where there is no back seat
I sleep – in a yellow 1978 Bronco, small and boxy, tough as shit
w/a winch and 33” mudders.  

th young town sleeps late,  careful not to let 

hangovers take control   [ [ of th day.  stumbling
                                                                                                  thr  ough *@
                                                         th 

                                las tt          hours
                                                                       ofsleep 

I stopd getting hangovers years ago,
but th headache remains.  pass th bottle
from one year into th next.

plastic lid off a coffee cup
and steam condenses in th fur on my upper lip. hot sip and stare
over th rim.  th hot, dark
liquid – made heavy and sweet with cream and sugar – warms
my mouth and throat for as far down as I can feel
and fills my stomach for a moment

th mtn, th destination of denial, is a 45-minute drive from town
where an unmarked dirt road turns off from the highway

I crank th engine and roar down main, running parallel
to a phantom train before turning west and right out of
town.  

th highway cuts sharp through jutting shale before it smooths
right out along th shoreline of a emerald finger lake – a mirror
for th pines. no ripple of disturbance.  pines, by now, no doubt, content
w/their appearance.  

a canoe pushes in at th far end of the lake and disrupts a
flock of geese that splash and frantically jerk their
necks for leverage. extending long wings to catch th’air and
flightless bodies lift upwards.  realizing th
communication, a bald eagle soars off a treetop and
and and high above th lake. gentle and upthere.  I pull   

over onto th shoulder and slide
and set up my stabilizer and wait for a
photo / space-time op, 

capture sky house by th light of a sun too high
for a good shot and th truck hums again and
past th lake and down 

into th thick and green Thorn Valley 

you punk , you punk
I heard

which absorbs my thoughts at 50 km/h searches
out of the passenger window for th dirt
road between the pines.  I find it so grown over
it’s almost unnoticeable.  

stopd in the middle of the highway.
in my rearview mirror a semi appears around th bend.
I spin th back tires, crank the wheel and break through
th low hanging branches.

# posted by hardyf : 19:48