Paulding, Marfa, and Hell

Paulding, Marfa,and Hell


I lost flesh and soul

the night Frank’s dodge

failed on RXR and Helmey-

crossing. Lodged in dirt and rain.

Miles from eyes and voice,

mired in folds of Cyprus limbs

and rud stench of Georgia mud.


Cell near dead, low light

haunts cab as breath sings

in lieu, no, beneath silence.

Ahead, Guyton. Behind, Brooklet.

No gas or repair between.

Black swallows, gorges in taunt

of all guesses, thoughts, hopes.


And there, for no reason

at all, none in the world:a lamp

sways, darts between dark

of myriad branches to tease.

“Car?” Frank says sipping whiskey

from silver flask. “No, its changing

color, red now.” I say as it drifts


in approach, growing bubble-

like above the dead leaves.

“Fuck,” frank says, forcing pedal

to floor. Drops of wet cease

their chorus. Light darkens,

flees from the road through

some unseen path, fades alone


in woods far beyond

our minds. “Saratoga” I whisper

between my teeth, pouring

scotch down my throat, dry.

Frank doesn’t understand, obvious.

There is no knowing, seeing

is all, but sight remains fleeting.


Perhaps, in the end,

the only human wisdom

is silence, and fear. 



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