I WON’T CHANGE FAWNGIRL FOR ANYTHING

I WON’T CHANGE FAWNGIRL FOR ANYTHING

On to Lincoln, Nebraska—
plumb in the middle of The Great Plains.

I wish I were back there again.
Tempests in the dark taunt
our exhibited drunken selves,
placing fallen yellow graves at our feet,
and waves stretching back liberty’s possession,
hand-cuffed under female felt and passion,
drift upon island animals and hidden
rebellions emerging.

There are many ways to lie when good
deeds and bad deeds follow you,
and you have everything you wanted.

Will you eventually be with me in that log cabin
in San Juan Valley, Colorado?

I wonder about a good deal in dreams and
dramas, half sick, half wounded, much around the
world, on sea and land, down among the first
arrivals while the worst was yet to come.

Another paradise lost,
but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

And I remember my old man, slaving away on
that lemon ranch in California, staring
across prairie land wandering
what the end would be.

Don’t worry Rachel,
I won’t change Fawngirl for anything.