Monday, April 11, 2011

South Carolina List

the back story of blooming dogwoods under the celebrity long leaf pines

dizzie's bronze in cheraw near the ATM

grapes and a beer at the gates of the scottish cemetary

somewhere north of McBee, a four wheeler tore up the ditch side of the road, as it got closer, i saw it was a dark haired shirtless boy driving and crouched, his white chest in the gray sun, i saw his nipples flash, and his brown-eyed girl wrapped around him exhuberent in her striped t-shirt, her hair flying, whipping with the terrible speed and the terrain taking liberties with their gravity and they had no cares, no care at all, except that particular unbelievable fast moment of their day, yes, their Day, and somewhere i thought her mother is wondering about her whereabouts, or maybe her mother doesn't care, or maybe her mother loves this boy who likes to drive his four-wheeler like the devil, and he's got a good job at the scissor factory, the second shift, and so there ain't nothin' wrong with what her daughter does with this skinny ass boy on the side of Route 1. So they hung in time and air as they passed me and their joy, their fast dust overtook my heart and while i imagined them coming to some violent end, i also imagined them old, real old, remembering this terribly dangerous thing they used to do, before the responsibilties of life put walls around them and a roof over them, a made the babies cry for attention. They were such a beautiful terrifying sight of youth, i cannot tell you the laughter they brought out of me, the joy they put in my chest, as they bounced and tore back in the direction i was leaving, and i thanked the clock for timing it so that i was there to see them.

The sun came out somewhere south of McBee . . . just so i could see the peach orchards black and bare in the sandy ground . . .

a sign that said "Bearly Used"

the eight thousand dollar VW bus called to me

my stepfather has gone deaf and this makes him angry and well, damn right confused . . .

there are so many rabbits here, they cross the road from my mother's house to the barn and sometimes they are so crazed with spring they run straight for you, then they stop, quiver, and dash into the briars that contain the old railroad . . .

night falls and the egrets pass over, to roost in the rice swamp after rooting around on the river banks all day

Cormorants, snake birds, commute back to the swamp too

fire ants bite me in the field

bats, little bats, swoop at dusk . . .

there's a half moon on Sunday night with four contrails intersecting and one of the planes is in plain site, and it glows orange in the setting sun and it draws it's white line over the sky's graph . . .

a peregrine sits on a wire

a red mare tries to bite my forearm

red wing black birds sit on the gigantic soybean field sprinklers and trill

an old gray gelding stands with black eyes in the morning . . .

hale attacked us at midnight, i thought the house was falling apart

i don't like hitting black butterflies with my truck

the neighbors' house has so many azaleas that i stand in the road and stare

dragon flies avoid shrikes . . . it's kind of like war

my mother's one eyed cat sits on the back porch and measures grackles

the alligators are swimming in Alice's swamp across the road, they writhe as i drink my last glass of wine . . .

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