Western Devolution

Watson

Your phone call caught me reading Scientific American. They say
every star attracts a twin, too dim to see. Ours moves an arc-second
every other generation -- out beyond the Oort Cloud, rustling among
the comets-to-be, no tidal pull, no evidence beyond the second
order effects, dark and faithful to ellipsis.

~~~

There are only the geese
in the air and those beneath
the sugar mill, arranged like an army
of the mute: frozen mud, stubbled
wheat. Above, a lancehead caroms
off the horizon, returning with the same
aimless determination. They say
it’s a thing in their head and the iron
hidden in Long’s Peak.

~~~

Two men meet
in a cowboy bar,
one bleeding from
a razor cut, the other
with his hat on backwards.
Where’s the story
in that?

~~~

A streetlight shines
on the Sunday Times
wrapped in green plastic
cockeyed on the driveway

~~~

The moon is hubris.
No sea to sway, a eunuch
singing to the stone.

Watson