Dale Jensen
As the Drought
as the dROUGHt DrIEs the noBODY
THE noTHING
the PLANET on whicH IT rides
the PLANeT carrieS ITS trasitory orBIT
the sun that WILL DIE sometime TOO
as people look to the sky and say
how HOT it is this VERY AFTERnoon
The Owl of Accidents
emperor of the accident
voices out of the nowhere
where a while before
there were no voices at all
tr yngto ke eph i ms el f
and the distribution of planning frogs
and planning if he does that
that exists as the pedestrian steps
in front of a truck a second before
in a frozen forever
toke e pdoi ngt ha t
li lypa crosst hed e sert
the limb where the owl sat
watching for mice
the owl of accidents the owl watching
even over their headlights
thep oli cec arf i rst
the nth ep a remed i cs
th enth e am bula n ce
as the emperor’s crown clanks down the street
as if that were the important part
those voices you hear now
as you switch into a future
don’t you hear them
as she sits
on a limb
The Pass (after Edgar Rice Burroughs)
I BEar wenT INto the villAGE of ivory
ranSOm Wild unkNOWn count
loVing cOLUMn of hEavy
laDEN The entire COUNTry
DEAD MEN were lighting the torch
he might have considerable stomach
sWAYing branch on A GO
inSTANt Death to any who shALL kill YOU
LEAVE the WAY sufficient to OVERcoat
paniC AT the just PASSed
II be erwe nt int o thev i ll age o fiv or y
r ans o mwi ld unk now nco u nt
lo vingc olu mn o fhe a vy
la dent he ent i rec o untr y
de adm enw er slig hti ng thet o rch
hem i ght ha veco nsi dera ble stoma ch
swa yin gbr a nchonag o
insta ntd e athto a nyw hosh a llki llyo u
le ave thew ayau ffici entto o verco at
p a nicatth ej ustpa s sed
Red Bones in the Sunset
two-handed inflated antlers
an old penny that once could have been something else
lights shining inside someone’s fortune
a memory of sunken cars parked along skid row
their slow brown procession subsequent over the prairies
wastelands must give thanks
once i saw those mountains from a train window
but the sunset when orange rinds sing in the sky
the horned beast still playing outside your walls
playing melancholy baby
seems angry because you won’t pull its finger
but when you look back he’s only an actor
with a recorded trumpet
steals my purse the research continues
as the animal’s own guts continue to talk to him
the red bones some cave dweller painted on the wall
the cave of mouth voices that cover teeth
the bare ceiling of your house could be a sky
something for even spare change to aspire to
outside the ruins leather clad peasants
dance back and forth in rows
the antlers they hold bow to each other
sway clash spark sunlight
that waves in joy as it visits other planets
Dale Jensen was born in Oakland and has degrees in psychology from UC Berkeley and the University of Toronto. He has seven books and five chapbooks out and in the 1980’s edited the poetry magazine Malthus. He tries to keep ahead of himself