Alden Van Buskirk
Muted Terror
I am dreaming.
It is pleasant to dream.
I dream cars churning
corners below this porch.
They are not circus wagons
or signboards boiled
open by the sun. Dreaming
they appear as colored sores
issuing from the stop sign.
They are not water, though sun
dances on their glass backs.
Nor can I ascertain their depths
for their reflection breaks from
the limits of chrome.
To dream the motors? It is not
possible except as the sun and the
weeds pry their hoods off in future junkyards.
A blue one displays its thousand broken suns
swinely, dark head in; the window severs blacknecks,
it soars drunken above
the others, a bleeding fire.
This is a car not a bird.
It terrifies beautifully.
from Lami
The Auerhahn Society, 1965
FOR A VERY LONG TIME I HAVE BEEN DRAWN TO THE ABOVE PHOTOGRAPH OF THE POET, MAYBE THE ONLY ONE THERE IS, TIPPED IN BY A LOYAL HAND ONCE UPON A TIME INTO THE POET'S ONLY BOOK. THERE IS SOMETHING NOW AND FOREVER IN THESE POEMS AND FOR YOU IF YOU CAN FIND THIS BOOK. THE POET DIED IN HIS EARLY TWENTIES IN 1961.
