The valley of his youth is going slowly bald

By | 14 December 2009

The valley of his youth is going slowly bald
El valle de su juventud va lentamente calvo
A sad fate in any language
for, the sky opens up and loosens river slicks
whereas the breasts of his love could belong to the moon
and god knows she was one frigid chick!
the names. and the prohibitions.
Those unspoken words that talk volumes through a suggestive glance.
So, what if an empty gesture was now his only friend
The trough of youth sending up smoke signals
like the mist rising off the river while the mountain hides in the air
of hot-geysered hubris, dam this landscape of testosterone and
stubbled grass, where cattle break turned table legs in bunny sockets
while elephants rest in empty back pockets, and in their shoes
a lather of lust and essential sweat, black floods
as you see a host of compensations
signed upon the wall
reservations old men made
warhooped-angry cries
the battle lines drawn, young men cry “fuck it”
girls and women rid their hair themselves in screwed anticipation
devoid, as he himself, of the living image, pictured now in memory.
And so all are hairless
the little fields of the valley floor have climbed its sides
as broadacre paddocks that burn under a hard sun.
Cattle hooves cut deep ridges into ground
where wallabies once played invisible games and
possums swung in branches while owls swept by
on powerful wings and tiny bats danced against the moon.
so you see, the landscape is a toupee –
to cover thus the valley of his youth
And it doesn’t matter if it’s going bald

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