Tempe, AZ

Each mind is its own place
Mine a motel in Tempe, Arizona
A nomad    A nudist
Pacing the lot tracing ghost lines,
Hunchback and Sunburnt.
A pool collecting Cracker Jack rings
Hair ties    Band-aids
The hair in the drain.
An old sheet pinned to the clothesline
The dirty wind that soils it warm,
Waving     Wrung.
The desert dark pulling shadow-covers
Over grand-canon back alleys,
Red-faced    Cactus-caught
Mining through trash.
And the homesick sand thumbing
Spine silhouettes    Ghost carriages
Tumbleweeds home.

original poetry by Hogan


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s