I wrote this a couple years back. It was published in a little magazine only hippies read. It's the first third of the whole thig. I'm revising it some but not much. Be careful: it's wild.
Bigfoot Is Continuous
permanent universal and inflamed
old Bigfoot omnivorous and vital
androgynous and radical
Bigfoot has a penis like a staple gun;
a vagina like a bank vault
and a whisper like low surf on a falling tide.
Old Oscar lies under the bridge
completely inebriated
a seal barks a gull cries
a truck founders on the last log
bigfoot comes howling down 101 in the blurred rain'without misgiving clutching a steel rope braided
out of steel string
clinging to logs like an Ahab
atop a Peterbilt looming
on a commute from sketchy itchy crankertown
wondering who's got what and where
wondering who's got whom and why
what do you do with those handcuffs lady? what do you charge?
I try not to stare, but the tenderness of your innocence beguiles me
while Bigfoot rambles through the sturdy brick and the hammered underpins
looking for surviving Yurok in the Eureka misson, for crabapples in the soft hay
for careworn violent underthings on the personal clothesline
in the private backyards
in triangular operating areas on dirt roads truck roads jeep roads
animal graveyards broken-up midden grounds made into paving on streets
in cul-de-sacs near the university clock near the transparent reading
of transparent poets.
A frost-lined carcass lies well-preserved on
some interstate ditch, a brace of loose hogs run wild through market conditions
a couple of bears find themselves undressed in a garage
bullet-wounds, knife-scars, fat stripped raw and stuffed into freezer bags
little wild onions grow in secret between a set of ranch-type homes stenciled
over the original Indian trail, furnished with new coasters made of root, with cane and wicker to populate the entryway, for the exact seascape of
aluminum foil and tissue paper glued to the bones of the final wild elk
seen running inland woodward wildly lost and afraid, wounded alone in a panic
making Horse mountain a little after nightfall, diving into golden chinquapin
into the fifty acre manzanita thicket where snakes hide slowly digesting themselves
rodents thinking about the experience in sultry burrows, napping on
rattlesnake grass, resting during warm afternoons on isolated footpads of loose bark
constructing impossible but inevitable rat-nests of bendable Burger King straws and rebar
fishhawks hooking hatchery fish from the rearing pond
herons eating manipulated frogs
a maiden fly drying on a rock
a dragon fly breaking out of dry husk, touching Bigfoot's left gonad in a rare meeting
then slowly carefully opening to become beautiful and terrible
.
Lucy stews fish on the point/her eye on the Tornado spotted by the Coast Guard/signal
by secret passionate messages hammered by trunktapping woodpeckers sequestered
on woodpecker preserves
a pickup truck an old man preaching from the bed, his book open on his had
stroking his unrepentant self under the cassock, sweating in the sun
toetapping kingbirds vying for the window
near the old logging show, black stumps delineate what was
and berry patches gather like so man congregations of the brainless
flushed into the open by the inconsequential numerical superiority
so many rows of homes drying in the sun
so many care waiting at the green light
so many swimming pools
so many bus-stop computer jocks comparing latest memos.
The meaning of life is to practice philology
with someone else_to speak plainly and get out a few good lines
at the church mixer; it's nice knowing where the good joints are
how to get there from here
Bigfoot is continuous permanent universal and inflamed
swearing to obliterate all frontiers, chromosomal or otherwise
and brandish his logic at theologians, digging the history of life
while be plays with himself, a recurring theme of the sworn mystic
finding himself alone in the closet or just out of range
in the wild apple grove
under the huckleberries
on some delicate roadside spot
after the real estate deal goes sour and the sheriff
arrives with shotgun and bulldozer to abolish him
before he can think of any more damage to do
by the waterhole, circled by roadkilled blacktails
who came here silently to die grievously of wounds incurred
while negotiating auto-cult upmanship stuck in their own world
they never grasp the next and hardly but deeply understand this one
chewing their cud, traveling light
cropping the meadows and perilous golfcourse thruways.
Bigfoot Is Continuous
permanent universal and inflamed
old Bigfoot omnivorous and vital
androgynous and radical
Bigfoot has a penis like a staple gun;
a vagina like a bank vault
and a whisper like low surf on a falling tide.
Old Oscar lies under the bridge
completely inebriated
a seal barks a gull cries
a truck founders on the last log
bigfoot comes howling down 101 in the blurred rain'without misgiving clutching a steel rope braided
out of steel string
clinging to logs like an Ahab
atop a Peterbilt looming
on a commute from sketchy itchy crankertown
wondering who's got what and where
wondering who's got whom and why
what do you do with those handcuffs lady? what do you charge?
I try not to stare, but the tenderness of your innocence beguiles me
while Bigfoot rambles through the sturdy brick and the hammered underpins
looking for surviving Yurok in the Eureka misson, for crabapples in the soft hay
for careworn violent underthings on the personal clothesline
in the private backyards
in triangular operating areas on dirt roads truck roads jeep roads
animal graveyards broken-up midden grounds made into paving on streets
in cul-de-sacs near the university clock near the transparent reading
of transparent poets.
A frost-lined carcass lies well-preserved on
some interstate ditch, a brace of loose hogs run wild through market conditions
a couple of bears find themselves undressed in a garage
bullet-wounds, knife-scars, fat stripped raw and stuffed into freezer bags
little wild onions grow in secret between a set of ranch-type homes stenciled
over the original Indian trail, furnished with new coasters made of root, with cane and wicker to populate the entryway, for the exact seascape of
aluminum foil and tissue paper glued to the bones of the final wild elk
seen running inland woodward wildly lost and afraid, wounded alone in a panic
making Horse mountain a little after nightfall, diving into golden chinquapin
into the fifty acre manzanita thicket where snakes hide slowly digesting themselves
rodents thinking about the experience in sultry burrows, napping on
rattlesnake grass, resting during warm afternoons on isolated footpads of loose bark
constructing impossible but inevitable rat-nests of bendable Burger King straws and rebar
fishhawks hooking hatchery fish from the rearing pond
herons eating manipulated frogs
a maiden fly drying on a rock
a dragon fly breaking out of dry husk, touching Bigfoot's left gonad in a rare meeting
then slowly carefully opening to become beautiful and terrible
.
Lucy stews fish on the point/her eye on the Tornado spotted by the Coast Guard/signal
by secret passionate messages hammered by trunktapping woodpeckers sequestered
on woodpecker preserves
a pickup truck an old man preaching from the bed, his book open on his had
stroking his unrepentant self under the cassock, sweating in the sun
toetapping kingbirds vying for the window
near the old logging show, black stumps delineate what was
and berry patches gather like so man congregations of the brainless
flushed into the open by the inconsequential numerical superiority
so many rows of homes drying in the sun
so many care waiting at the green light
so many swimming pools
so many bus-stop computer jocks comparing latest memos.
The meaning of life is to practice philology
with someone else_to speak plainly and get out a few good lines
at the church mixer; it's nice knowing where the good joints are
how to get there from here
Bigfoot is continuous permanent universal and inflamed
swearing to obliterate all frontiers, chromosomal or otherwise
and brandish his logic at theologians, digging the history of life
while be plays with himself, a recurring theme of the sworn mystic
finding himself alone in the closet or just out of range
in the wild apple grove
under the huckleberries
on some delicate roadside spot
after the real estate deal goes sour and the sheriff
arrives with shotgun and bulldozer to abolish him
before he can think of any more damage to do
by the waterhole, circled by roadkilled blacktails
who came here silently to die grievously of wounds incurred
while negotiating auto-cult upmanship stuck in their own world
they never grasp the next and hardly but deeply understand this one
chewing their cud, traveling light
cropping the meadows and perilous golfcourse thruways.