—for Dan Hoy’s grandfather
I placed a drive-in in Tennessee,
And full of cars it was, upon a hill.
It made a synthetic wilderness
Freeze frame that hill.
The wilderness crept up to it,
And grew fat, feeding on Graffiti & Grease.
The drive-in became one with the ground,
And rose high as part of the sky.
It grew omnipotent and old,
The screen was white and green with mold.
It never harmed a single flea,
Like no other thing in Tennessee.
-S(a)RS.
2 comments:
I know what Informalists are doing.
So does Wallace.
Out of this same light, out of the central mind
We make a dwelling in the evening air,
In which being there together is enough.
The interior paramour goes necking at the drive-in?
jam
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