Stranded

I sensed the settling dust through the fading veil of pain
Earth's hard, coarse crust pressed my temple's vein

I twisted, cringed, and rolled, and struggled up half-way
My head fell back and lolled on the sun-sintered clay

. . . .

(1983 or so)

An Adventure

(parts presented in the order in which they were written.)

[Part 2]

Oily scum slides slowly by
   In iridescent scuds.
Skimming the flimsy phosphate film,
   I feel the yellow gel below.
The smelly smog flows, sludge-slow.

The plastic bags hold the mud,
   Then tear, and melt.  The slaggy silt,
fuming, stings my rheumy fingers.
   The frothing foam frosts the bone,
And falls in gobs on the frozen loam.


[Part 1]

Rough ranges of refuse, in mounds,
   Row after careless row,
Complicated my way across that wasted land.

I finally found the faded factory,
   Squatting in smoggy solitude,
Besmeared with smuttish slime.

From a distance its shape was a shadow,
   A stern black sillhouette,
Peering through a paler obscurity.

Its arrogant obelisks spewed acrid odors,
   And soot, like an evil snow,
Descended slowly and stung the senses.

Foul fumes arose in writhing spirals,
   And wreathed about the wretched place,
In shredded shrouds of leprous lace.

(1983)