I've had my fill of the surface scene for now.
Navigating this new age mania and tectonic indifference.
I'm sailing underground to anchor up in glia monster town.
They're all poisonous down here but mostly harmless.
They flash colors, so you know where you stand
There's a steep learning curve, that's for certain
But everybody minds their own, without demands.
There's no sparring for the attention of the sun.
Everyone is in shadow; we're equally grounded.
No keeping up with the Joneses and Jetsons.
We're cool as ice bears and snow penguins.
No biters here to abbreviate your fate.
No gamblers to piss away all your pay.
No sniffers or grifters playing smelly games.
No angels on milk cartons, the young are all safe.
No stompers or sliders in red surface shoes.
Bleeding out on our palette of sweet, baby blue.
Sometimes the clack on the surface
seeps down through the cracks.
That's when the Gilas become a bit restless.
With a flicker of grace, the polluted are purified.
Soon enough, peace is restored to its place.
Sliding back into the charity of silence.
I'm thriving and have no desire to surface.
From a cosmic perspective
we all live under rocks.
Gila monster men and women
avoiding extreme heat
coming out at dusk
sniffing out
a mate-a meal
bits of mischief
spreading poison
&
Gila monster love.
Gila monster broke out of his cage,
stole some ammo and Pappy’s twelve gauge.
On a low grassy knoll, he
dispatched the anole
in a cold-blooded, reptilian rage.
I'm solitary, roaming
The American southwest desert;
Heaving my bulky body -
Covered with bead-like scales
Of black and yellow -
Across hot sands and rocks
In search of prey.
I'm a nocturnal,
Cold-blooded lizard.
I flick out my forked poisonous tongue
To taste the air like snakes do.
Do not confuse me
With a Komodo Dragon,
I'm a much smaller reptile,
And I wear a different skin.
My tail is rather short.
My razor sharp claws are used
To dig burrows and unearth
Buried eggs of tortoises, snakes,
And other lizards.
My diet include small crawlies
Such as rodents, frogs, meerkats, etc.
I don't mind birds and their young!
I'm a Gila Monster
If I could, I'd be a Gila Monster,
a desert lizard, living under rocks.
For then, I'd know nothing of winter snows,
and my greatest fear would be soaring hawks.
A venomous reptile with pink patterns,
no one would want to play around with me.
And I could be as sluggish as I want,
I'd be in no hurry to hide or flee.
I would dine out upon birds and their eggs
infrequently, ten times a year, or less.
And I'd climb prickly cacti to their nests,
it's what I do; I'm not out to impress.
You needn't worry; my bite's not fatal,
although it can leave you feeling quite sick.
So, if you're thinking of messing with me,
you'd better use thick gloves or a long stick.
(Quatrain)
5/4/2018
Screenpoem Pitch
by Odin Roark
Night
Empty wet ghost town street
Work lights spotted
Tumble weed shadows
Like vehement crusted webs
Gila monster stares vacant
Fat lady carries midget man to bed
Lions sleep
Elephants sway trunks
Phillip Glass sounds undulate
Horses prick ears
3 legged cat wails
Cat turns into old woman
Tumbleweed shadows chase woman
House trailer bathed in pink light
Fat lady steps in
Crazy mirror makes fat lady thin
Young
Crazier than old
Old woman changes into trapeze bikini
Lion tamer and young old lady kiss
3 legged cat scurries under bed
Lion tamer drops to knees
Pleads his love
Snaps whip
Cat hisses
Distant lightning
Trailer pink turns blue
Thunder rocks trailer
Rain washes trailer away
Old woman
Fat again
Walks in desolate rain
Swirls cotton candy around tongue
3 legged cat jumps in lion cage
Stares at lion
Missing leg scratches ear
Dreaming
Purring
Lion growling
Quiet
Oh so...
Quiet
Fade out
Buffalo skull on the desert,
White from the wind and the sun,
Sometimes I feel like that buffalo skull—
I really don’t need anyone.
Buffalo skull on the desert,
Spider makes a home in its head;
Sometimes I feel like that buffalo skull
When I think of those last words you said.
You said to me, “Adios, caballero, we’re crossing the border,
A posse’s close on our trail;
We’re wanted for love, and there’s a price on our hearts—
We’re fugitives from somebody’s jail,
And our ponies are starting to fail…”
Buffalo skull on the desert,
Gila monster scurries by;
Sometimes I feel like that buffalo skull
Under the dry desert sky.
Buffalo skull on the desert,
Might make a good souvenir;
Sometimes I feel like that buffalo skull
On a fence post so far from here.
Big old lizard, painted black, pink and orange, like a Arizona sunset
Sort of a hermit, with not a good attitude
Indians say that it's hide has healing powers, it's bite is a contradiction
I walk, head down, careful footing as I
study the terrain, the way the shadow
from the mountains cover the valley floor
the dry wash beds, marked with
wildlife tracks, deep and desiccated
no monsoon to wash them away
no relief, no rain to fill these
empty washes, to water this
wilderness that lies dry, parched
the cloudless sky above hides nothing
except for the desert creatures
absent in the heat of the day
as I retrace my path, I step around a gila monster
sunning himself on a rock, his rock
reminding me where I am
I am a trespasser; this is all their’s
and their tracks and presence remind me
step carefully, move slowly, retreat
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