Dogtown

for Gerrit


Duck stands on two by four.
Old broken-down speedboat
with swastika spray-painted
                  over the bow.

Day lilies on parade,
pacing the waffle boards
of the dock, crack-pot
beach towel worn as a fashion
accessory, under baseball hat.

Salt marsh power line.
Lover's toes in the mud
of long abandoned swimming pool.
Cold fusion.
Sometimes I plunder
the difference in dirt roads
in new england and
a rediscovery of the obvious.

Jackson confuses popsicle,
bicycle and testicle.
My snow cone dripping diluted
red & blue syrup all over knees.
The reader finds page dissolving
as he writes.
The text becomes unmeshed
like delicate fibers
of tissue separate in one's hands.

Foggy haze over swampland,
high electricity and doors slamming
elsewhere or else.
Green tractor.
Last ray of daylight.
Marigolds at beverly farms
drink dry
purple mountains travesty

Most get off in in Manchester
I'll go two more.