Excerpt

Even for a funeral, Pete Torgerson’s service was a glum affair,
Spanger thought. Everyone who could be expected to attend a
mayor’s funeral was there. The lieutenant governor, looking preoccupied,
represented the state administration. The minister read the
23rd Psalm, the choir sang “In The Garden,” people paid the
widow their respects at the reception, and all went home with a
sense of relief.
The hobo measure slipped off the council’s agenda. Not even
Frank Stout mentioned it again. The council set a special election
for November to fill the final year of Torgerson’s term and
appointed Ken Spear to serve as acting mayor in the interim.
Spanger knew Spear would run.A group of businessmen
was trying to convince Spanger to be a candidate. Without
Torgerson to contend with, he had the opportunity to mould
the police department into the organization he wanted. Still, he
liked the idea of leading the town. His family could not live on the
salary of a part-time mayor, but his share in the orchard produced a
fair income, and the prospect of spending more time on the ranch
appealed to him. Politics wasn’t what he had educated himself for,
but it could be what he was meant to do. When he asked Phyllis
about it, she said, “Is that what you want?” Up here at the top of the
valley, he thought it was.

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Penepole Says

…your splendid heart,
splendid since I chose it,
will always be somewhere else
and with the words I’ll sever
the threads that tie me
to a particular man
for who I long
until Odysseus becomes symbol
of nostalgia
and sails the seas
in everybody’s mind.
I forget you daily, passionately
that you’ll cleanse yourself of the sins
of sweetness and smell
and completely clean you’ll enter
the realm of immortality.
This job is hard and joyless.
my only reward
is that I finally understand
what’s human presence
what’s absence
or how the ego functions
in such desolation, in such long time
that nothing stops the tomorrow
the body always renews itself
gets up and goes to bed
as if someone chops it
sometimes sick, sometimes in love
hoping that
what of the touch it loses
it gains in substance.

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I Want to Leave
I want to leave this place, to go far away
I want to become golden dust in the air
simple element, free, brave
to an unfamiliar new land I’ll go
where things of the world will appear
like dreams and they’ll talk to the soul
where the nice faces of people will smile
and where I too shall be beautiful
where, my god, darkness wouldn’t exist
in the night, nor in the despair of the place
upon the horrible skyline or in the wind’s wailing
nor in the glances or words of people
where there won’t remain anything
but a little joy and satisfaction
where all will say that they have left forever
that perhaps they are all already dead.

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Hestia
The merciful Hestia built my dwelling
echo of a gallop
heard in faraway lands
sound of a comma
I noticed
the exclamation
of a woman’s nipple
softly touched, aroused
the exhausted tree stopped
its rustle and I existed
in vague limbo, man
without a homeland
homophonic crickets spoke of duty
foggy installment of guilt which
I carried into this world from
the serenity of the blessed souls
an unbroken link
to my ancestors’ beauty
wrath of barbarians at the cross points
of history and I felt Fate
leaning over my cradle
to remind me of
my future war against
shadows and
prickly pears seeds
the slow crawl of pain
had already commenced
my easy path to humanness

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