Karl Zuehlke



At the edge of the desert
sand knows nothing of hides
and oil and electrified fences.
You can miss the cactus flower
meshed in the spiny aster,
the thorns of a mesquite tree
that you, witless, take in hand.
Drink beer on the porch
and nurse those punctures.
After all, night is a swarm of insects.
After all the spilt moon is milk.
The ceiling fan with one blade left
will tear free from the ceiling.





It is important to treat what we eat symbolically, and to symbolically eat what is important.