forgetting my key west cap on the oklahoma panhandle

chalk it up to age

or the red soil in your eyes

or a dark day before a moonless

or full-moon night

sometimes the stars

cover your wounds

'cept for the ones inside

sometimes you just need

to change everything

let the algae blooms

eat themselves out

or let's barge in and choke

the oil platforms

in their embryo

the heat is pushing

the rio grande backwards

up from the gulf through the canyons

of elephant butte

all the way to albuquerque

and then on to colorado

before cooling down a bit

it's never been like this before

native people in alaska

losing their homes and shoreline

to the rising ocean

charting new maps

backtracking moose tracks

reindeer herds lost on a winter night

those americana chords

were dug up about the time

of the maya

before the exceptional

became an ism

when the clay of the human hand

could lead you back home

--- e b bortz

earth note 720

an editor years ago

after publishing a shitload of my poems

over a several year period

asked me to stop using

the earth note numbering method

     for poem titles

implying that i seem to have found

a lazy way of titling

     yeah

     there's an element of truth there

but i've never been a fan

of orthodoxy

nor of conforming

to any editor-self-inflating-wordplay

     puffery makes poor poetry

so let that stand as my

     au revoir

--- e b bortz

earth note 719

the morning had color

for a change

what's left of maple yellow

bright contrast

on a broken blue sky

scattering shadows

left by a muse or two

     you know this is a full-time job

--- e b bortz

earth note 718

after a day of rain

the land changed

the flat roof porch turned into a still life

the rivers still too low to be heard

     hide their shadows instead

in maples well on their way

to being leafless

you already know the phrase

about weather men & women

repeating the obvious

is too easy of a way

     out

there is no way out

when the dog barks

you know you've taken

too much for granted

a rumbling below

comes in an odd frequency

     only nonhumans and trees can feel it

if you stay to the trail

footprints and words

become predictable

--- e b bortz

earth note 717

about the time we reach new mexico

every gnarly haired dog

will become the wildness

     free spirit

of the mesquite tree

like the one growing

out of the rock

its roots going deep

     deep enough

to survive another dry year

the sun drops on its way

to a brown horizon pulling it down

high desert dreams become dust

     as the ground shifts

mesquite twists

--- e b bortz

jerome arizona circa 1980

our paths may have crossed

about the time the art galleries found a home

on main street

long after the copper mine wars

now metal desert

a dustbin portal from the wobblies 1917 strike

& deportation from the land of the 'free'

i don't know if utah phillips ever wrote

a song about it

but he might have

and long before that

the songs of the hohokam

now sculpted into cold rock

transitioned into old frame houses of living color

     oil paint on canvas

frame makers and fabric artists

i can see a singer/songwriter

in a vintage studio

& tourists climbing those hills

carrying their own crosses

and yes there's always love

     kate wolf

heartbeats     hands & a voice

caught just in time

when the verde valley

sings

--- e b bortz

earth note 716

first flakes are listless

almost still

random rendezvous

to even fall this gray morning

is still something

of a transformation

--- e b bortz

i never said the highway wouldn't be just an empty promise

any direction

year in year out

corn fields or orange groves

when it all passes

it's just

earth or ashes

just because you hold the wheel

doesn't mean you'll ever stay

on the straight and narrow

the lines in your face

and below your waist

tell a different story

someone a long time ago

told me that every day

that passes without a reckoning

is just another wasted one

     eventually

you run out of days

what looks like doom

might just be the end of time

or a song not written yet

or hidden words between the lines

you forgot to speak

when you had the chance

--- e b bortz

earth note 715

riding rain and a gray overcast

a drum line of crows

echo from the wings

to center stage

followed by an entourage

of a hundred more

their voices riffraff

backbeat

then fade

--- e b bortz

all the old imperial quotes

puffed up from fifty years ago

like a wake & speech that never end

regurgitated

back to life

just to grab those last couple foundational illusions

     obedience & authority

then to polish the buttons on the uniforms

     one more time

for another war cloaked in the rhetoric

like 'we have no alternative'

but to soldier on

and protect the oil fields

for future generations

with the vast deserts of the inferno

where the abyss will rise up and find

the silent majorities

--- e b bortz