up at sparrow fart (circa 2000)

at breakfast at the High Chaparral
totally chilled passionate dudes
munch bloomsday burgers
pour powder snow on cereal metonymy

their cigar and dope smoke levitates
an elfin pinnace to hum among the rafters
ufologists’ muse, the tiny captain coughs
drops an anchor into an eye below

gotcha! the dudes wheeze and blink
empathising with the kitchen hand
who struggles with the hook
that’s pierced his retina

his very soul’s on fire
it’s drawn out, attenuated, snapped and scanned
then released
and while he grovels on the floor

the captain rubs his databanks
and pulls his pinnace to the shore
(the chasing along the flange
around the hood above the stove)

dudes cringe and cuss
then shave and shit
and, steady for the day
stretch limbs outside

call hello hello
to echoing hills
embraced by azure rings
of smoke from ranges far