Sunday, August 15, 2010


Roswell with the Plains rolling out into the Eyes
Eyes with the Plains rolling into the Bars
Bars where the Cattle cross into the Heart
Roswell where the Heart rolls out of the Bars
Bars with no Bars but Photographers arms
back from San Francisco talking of Pool
no Table no bars no way to find Home
Home from I am Roswell with the Veins in my Arms
Arms with the Plains rolling out of all Harm
Harm where you know it alive the Baby cries
Roswell with recorders & Plains with their Arms
to be one Born here St Mary's ordinary cross
Roswell with the Music He cleaned it up
Roswell with no name He never saw his town
Roswell never saw the town named from his name
Plains arms roll never knowing where they came from
Philanthropy an old thing naming from the Bars
no Bars only Home to some
trying to name an artist
who's really good at home in his voice
reading the names as they show up in the Plains
Home & Home again a name in the Bars
of Albuquerque Algodones Placitas home
Roswell with the name nobody calls it a home
Home it was & ever will be & be & be
Roswell with the name where
the flat ness rolls out
aflame in the ears to die
Roswell old home a poet born to hear what
he hears her sitting home away in the tears
he left here to come back a dozen years of solitude
a chronicle of Paradise in trees they left to die
Artesian Roswell making making
empty clothes lines

I give you Silk Stockings for Yr Empty Bars
I give you back Roswell with its empty Death Wish
I give you back what you brot me Lines with a Stick
a Bat out of Carlsbad a Bag of loose Cotton
a reaping raping raiding woman cursing with the Dry Plains
I give you a Letter the Letter Z
Z for Zones Z for Cattle Brands unknown
Z for my Home never found never wandering
A Ghost of the Lovely Host who ate his Solid Wafer
& blessed the Town to turn it back where its Hope was found once
when you let the newly found Artesian wells spill out their
Giant wealth to give it in again & take the People Hatred
Hiding in DeBremond Stadium where the Football games
pounded it in turn it in the Spring River come back
flowing flowing in all the ways of fuck again.

larry goodell
(written on envelope at Wendell Ott’s
Sunday, 7Apr74 in Roswell, New Mexico)

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