actually the angel’s already inside
with the groceries, carried them in
in one stupid angel trip

Instantaneously and repeatedly, Blank serves as a station for our senses, making possible an impression of continuance.

Midwinter night,
     Clark & Halstead brushed with this week’s snow
     grill lights blinking at the corner

Switch on lights yellow as the sun 
                                                    in the bedroom... 
The gaudy poet dead         Frank O'Hara's bones 

West of Laramie, Elk Mt. snow covered top—Medicine Bow Mts. ranged black—that Road still ribbons past red sandstone buttes—“Looks like you shd be a yogi on each rock”—down the vast green valley floor

    Like Utah, like America, mountain rookeries cliffed distant under cloud-fished transparent sky—the Blue Shield, that might be heaven over the Ferris Mountains’ precipices (illustration) striped under snow dusty pine ridges.
    Great Divide Basin up Rt. 287 grey mud lake at Muddy Gap—Rock wall leaned up from colossal ditch, smooth stone sheet cracked by brush upsprung—Rattlesnake Range rocks bunched up in mountain piles north blue sky’d—Dry wood snowfences snaked straight up hill south of the highway, wood slats x’d together.

OK Neal
    aethereal Spirit
             bright as moving air

Time comes spirit weakens and goes blank apartments shuffled through and forgotten
The dead in their cenotaphs locomotive high schools & African cities small town motorcycle graves

Those high lunches needn’t matter
If you are of businessman’s age
Anyway he enjoyed creating food

Stand in a field long enough, and the sounds
start up again. The crickets, the invisible
toad who claims that change is possible,
And all the other life too small to name.

No earthly image —only clouds,
affluent clouds, seen from high above,
still bright at the approach of evening.