Hey guys, I was away in Marfa for my birthday, so it's been a while, but continuing my new series 'spies of the field,' here is the next poem. Also, the pictures I'll be posting for the remainder of the series are taken from Marfa and west Texas (and maybe a secret cave?!).
spies in the field: numbers racket
the girl with the blue skirt, a ruffled imitation of cloud, sings a symphony as she drunkenly gazes at the other guys in shrewd business suits; tell us, then,
exactly what we are, what our make is, our best day, our worst day, a tragedy, and a triumph.
the girl removes the glasses from her face and now becomes more beautiful. beautiful women dance around the night, but sometimes they hide in apartments, under blankets, near cat tails, in refrigerator light, and always bound by an old sweater, a new dress, some pagan shoes, or a guffy old typewriter.
the numbers are click clacking around the lick slick signs of this town; get out now, they are trying to tell us, but spies and deception are brothers.