Thursday, March 14, 2013



“my attitude toward art
and life and the balance
between the two”
—Truman Capote,
Music for Chameleons

Finally I left Brooks alone
he was glad to see me go

No director can stand it
an author staring over his shoulder

My intense critical surveillance 
had made both him & me edgy

The Editor of The Telegram
Garden City’s only newspaper

Felt the same about my invading
his Kansas inner sanctum kingdom

Presuming to write a trashy novel
about such a sordid subject

Publicizing their tragedy and
making money from the whole story

Brooks got the same treatment
Finney County folks wanted to forget

Midwesterners are a secretive lot
American Gothic a way of life for them

How else to survive out there
endless miles of wheatfields forever

Stark overwhelming emptiness
out in the middle of nowhere

A single desultory railroad track
straight as an arrow outta nowhere

A highway heading into nothingness
coming & going thru Dante’s Hell

Route 50 under a cruel endless sky
sleek Greyhound busses hissing by

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