Summer notebook series 3

Hop-head chopped up board to square his air conditioner. Sawed off silvery platters his FEDDERS. Roof gravelled, wire hung, rusty cage-capped. Ash can the sap. Fiesta flickers, hovers over dust-dry potted stalks.

Big sky means flat land. Big sky means bent light, long shot, long drags slung low.

Truck squeals ten stories sharp, draws applause, saws a scraping limp along 12th avenue, brake squawl to brake squawl a god-awful strip off metal.

Tiny white-stripe spider caught on my toe, hops off into squirrel stance, rigid jitters.