Picnic Clatter

The distances have composed a message
that will continue to become clearer
as it rolls toward you, some days
silently, all oil and promise

and at other times the scraping
is overwhelming. Otherwise it blinks
like decaying neon on a roadside bar & grille.
Once Ruscha-like it dared resistance.

Hey, doc have the wheels come off?
We do fade in and out of coherence
as twilight approaches on its sliding
Potemkin boards of dismal science.

Placated by the tips of trees counted
out the windows flipping by on the ride
to dissolute summer and its relentless
beating against all tranquil defenses

brings to irresolution a quiet coma
and drinks at the picnic table. Light
chatter of no consequence follows the crumbs,
& bees, our knees touching to comfort our hearts.

Published by William Cowan

I'm from the East Coast, have lived in SoCal and now Northern California for some years. I've been writing quite awhile, published in 1992 in a literary quarterly: "Suspicious Humanist," vol. 2, #2, (20 pages.) Best job: fm on air personality on a now defunct station, "Evening Eclectic" music show, and a weekly poetry reading show. I played jazz and free/improv I enjoyed. Read Wallace Stevens, John Ashbery, Kenneth Koch, etc. and commented on the poems. I have read once at a local coffee house. Love the Bay Area, wouldn't want to be anywhere else. I am going to appear in an east coast anthology of best new poets of 2010 by the end of the year, published in Pennsylvania. I'm reading once a month at a brewpub in Marin with a group of fellow poets. We read to each other our work, and personal favorite poems of authors we enjoy. It is a pleasure to share with a community of fellow enthusiasts.

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