The Cacographer

God didn’t do that (I actually wrote this on the 20th, but had to edit it. I need to give more thought to the title, but I like it)

9:45 and Hunter is wandering slackjawed
among Arizona or Colorado maybe
while ponderosas and reptiles crack
around his bewildered head.

At first, only JD and Ruggles
noticed him missing among their
solitary ink black coffees in wideset cabins
and shook their heads, wondering who else was alone.

9:45 and Hunter is still alone,
except for rabid bats and dune buggies
a clattering typewriter with keys like braces,
an oversized press card ostensible and forgotten in his hat.

At first, he simply probed himself,
checking what flesh lay where, and if the
Cadillac could drive itself without his cigarettes
and wandered slackjawed beneath empty skies
or a shimmering wet volley of accidental night.

9:45 and Hunter has nothing left to do
with sandstone or quartz or sand filled rivers
or the clattering typewriter around his leg
Nothing to do with tequila and ranches or coffee and rye
and so stops
leaving JD and Ruggles to wonder if at least we’re alone.

posted by OrangeDrink @ 1:18:00 AM