DISPERSION MODEL
(246 per.mutations.)
by Shavi Blake
Copyright 2011 Shavi Blake
Smashwords Edition
*******
(1)
Interstate-5. Cesium-137. Xenon-133. Ghost cars
either way. the highway (somewhere) the high-way (somewhere)
dispersion model predicts radioactive plume (somewhere)
the highway. Officially, radioactive plumes can’t hurt
a fly. Uncle-fly. Mercy-fly. I’m not a fly, not flying,
yes bus riding- “uncle!” “uncle!” just part of the high-way speck
a speck on the highway “uncle!” “uncle!” hurtling for cover “uncle!”
hurtling for wonder for-ever falling out. Official statement: “Rocks
give off more cancer than a meltdown.” I cross myself. “This meltdown
won’t make teeth or hair fall out.” I cross myself. Interstate-5. Fall-out
Iodine-131. north south. I cross myself.
(2)
eyes- fuel station in fluorescent-
fuel station filled with trucks filled
with diesel. eyes- bloodshot, bloodshot
I, exhausted, inhale exhaust, trucks
filled with diesel trucking tons of (diesel)
to fluorescent cathedrals
(3)
Every 3 a.m. shit stall toilet clogged up
one stall occupied (doors locked trousers
around swollen truck clutch crunching
ankles, feet pigeon-toes farts. grunt-o.)
“Ah Christ!”
Shitting in a stall- Eric Clapton “Layla”
(acoustic version) through
somewhere-speakers like hidden
transistor radio 20 years ago
(4)
Pilot Travel Center
diesel, gasoline, convenience store (lottery
ticket, breakfast, bic lighter, 7-up, brake
fluid, breakfast, corn dog corn chips corn
syrup, breakfast…) Asphalt parking lot
glazed with oil slick. spectral rainwater
reflects
the convenience store
CAT SCALE
glows
black and tabby
yellow
(5)
Terror film screen nightmare wracked
near wrecks Metal too thin for so much
asphalt Skin too thin for so much doom
Radioactive rain on big bus big windshield
Soul shuddering predictions of mother’s
inevitable death.
(6)
Blond apocalyptic shepherd sunburned hands
twenty years old, wears an orange vest
(insurance requirement) herds shopping
carts littered in parking lot pasture dawn
Beach Cruiser (rattle-rittle-squeak)
Fog blanket horseman (bum with seahag hair
coasts across west coast horizon nowhere)
Smash! California bum armed to the teeth,
grins with arsenals of empty cans, olympic
caliber expert can crusher. Smell of fire-
work gunpowder smoke, coffee, saltwater
(7)
7 a.m. Ralph’s grocery- bums, me, bum
Bathroom in back- nice bum demonstrates
expert sink-wash and hygienic paper towel
dry, “automate it!” (sensor activated paper
towel dispenser) Pockets of tums, robitussin
cough syrup, hersheys chocolate syrup, aunt
jamima maple syrup, planter’s peanuts. Waist-
band shopping bag of aqua net, of nestles choc-
late chips. I wash my face, automate it, dry my
face. Pockets of Vitamin C (generic) Trojan Rub-
bers (ultra thin) Waistband of band-aids, colgate
toothpaste, Gatorade. I helped me-self, too.
(8)
Shopping cart of busted wheels
tipped over like a dead seal
Cheap stucco glaze on tall
concrete wall crusty frosting
of shelf stale store cake
I leaned in close to the loading
dock- discreet, polite, gracious
I took a leak. Woman in SUV
red Ford grimaced; secretly
desirous, inevitably cancerous
(9)
Great genius behind the wheel
captain’s the bus (radiation submarine)
“I like sappy movies! Syrup-sap
boiled and poured over pancakes
cooked from homemade batter
thicker the better”
Gurl says, “We all come from
the same Stardust”
“Yes! Stardust!
THAT
is
completely
RIGHT!”
*(come together
on the road rolling
rollicking radio)
(10)
Mexican samurai 2 swords strapped to
his back copper shield welded to Harley
Davidson handlebars- Hog Steel horse he-
haw no muffler he-haw he rides
Bumper to bumper ass crack to
ass crack flash flood of vans, veins, bicycles,
automobiles exhaust pipe to mouth
to mouth to invincible samurai mouth
resurrection. Mexican Thor mythic sword
and shield. What about Daredevil? (just a
stick for a blind man) Parking lot packed
ass crack to ass crack with yellow tax-
is beneath a billboard for discount
plastic surgery.
(11)
Cesium-137
deadly
but not to
humans
in low levels
Twin brothers
one twin with floppy
hair
one twin with shaved
head
exchange punches
2 for flinching
I’ll use my left
arm
*POW!*
*POW!*
(12)
The wind:
sometimes a sail, sometimes a scythe.
heat cries alone- a mirage-
a cruel farmer, heat pulls nutrients
from cells like buckets to wells. The wind,
insistent. The wind: sometimes a sail,
sometimes a knife-
The wind
(13)
Auschwitz clouds in desert sky
vertebrae (no skull) float like a row
of sun bleached helium bone balloons
Ocean wind, saturated in
Fukushima perfumes,
scrapes a wire brush over
impartial earth
Mariachi on car radio
joyous and high pitched
“ha-ha-ha!” loud enough to hear
a mile away the plants
and birds take no notice
of any raucous horn filled
cymbal crash requiem.
(14)
Pothole Mexican road skeleton thin dogs
Vietnam land mines thirty five years later…
CO canyon- smog porridge smorgasbord
lunch steak dinner. cinderblock home
on highway gutted out where a woman
holds brown bawling baby and plastic bags
humid with tamales for sale-
scorpion crawling in desert dust
an eyeball for flies cadavers strapped
to mechanical frames punching, smiling,
fondling, feeding alone
(15)
Head: rattle snake crushed on hot tar highway
Torso: fish guts scavenged by crying gulls
Left arm: puss bandage in gutter
Left leg: turpentine on rag huffed for hours
Cock and balls: odd child to parents too old
Right leg: milk spoiled behind the counter
Right foot: chicken fucked in coop and neg wrung
Left foot toes: chicken dinner
(16)
Radioactivity spreads faster than clouds
microwave dinner still cold in the middle
of no concern to genius behind steering wheel
old mad Ahab hunting horizon whales (boat battered to
bits) (sails ripped)- (waves crash) -(lightning)
“Arg! Wealthy on experience that money can never buy!”
(Har-Har dripping irony like pooh-bear money comb)
“We don’t buy into society’s box of narrowly defined
success!” (Irony sets like rubber cement)
Blue sky no indication of apocalypse
Carly Simon on radio “You’re so vane”
(guitar solo)
“I love this song!!!”
Genius boy emphatically slams fist against
dashboard.
(17)
trembling scientists report last ditch effort
shaky voice variations of slow motion nightmare
seawater hoisted by helicopter while first plume of
radiation crosses half way around globe (aspiring
halo). Seawater blows into wind mist- helicopter pilot
treated for radiation sickness.
“You know you’re fucked when you’re pouring
seawater on it-“ “My sister is pouring seawater on
her divorce”
Arid baja to the left. nothing but
a mobile home and generator
(18)
Chernobyl Chernobyl
you sound like a rare and prized bird
mating plumage feathers sprout like
stalks of cotton candy: turquoise, pink
Ornithologists listen to bird
and thelonious pays no mind to the science
of flying creatures
cavities don’t mind sugar
breeze don’t mind particles
death don’t mind nature
(19)
Trash littered all over drastic slope
man they must have launched that
garbage with a
HEAVE!
“This is the cliff where every Hollywood
wreck scene was ever filmed-
Ahhhhhh!”
(stock scream that same scream been used
used and re-used for 50 years- the randolph
scream or something like that)
“Nah! the Wilhelm!” “Huh?”
“The Wilhelm scream!”
He He hoo hoo Ha (canned laugh from
Brady Bunch) HOO HOO HA HA
Three Mexican boys
with nicely combed hair
politely play on concrete
bunkers
(20)
Bobbing red and white buoys like big versions of
the ones I used on my thin fishing line fishing for
trout (Sequoia 1986) them plumb dumb plastic
wide rings float on midday glare ocean surface
(dutiful tugboat-strong fishin’ boats bob nearby)
“They’re harvesting nuclear fish”
“Well sure enough yr’ sushi will glow
sink your mercury teeth into that”
4 wide rings almost like Olympic rings logo
(Los Angeles 1984) but it’s a new design
Apocalypse Olympics- none of the rings
link, signifying international disunity, dissent,
inability to communicate, nothing in common-
empty rings murderous armies everywhere
(official press release)
(21)
‘nuff to make ya’ cry blue sky 5pm
yellow and white dandelions? (some
perfect and simple flower)
Prom queen Daisy Mae daisies carpet
the banks of dirt rock sewage canal (mostly
dry in the sun hot dust) used tires
stuck in the sand like melted life
savers (saviors) candies on tongue
I walk on a dusk cement guardrail
and get dizzy from the height
Well if the bomb don’t kill me then surely
a numb-skull fall will
Ah heck, what a timid tight rope walker
I would be what a wonderful
child I would be (second time)
(22)
Sitting on cinderblock stairs
Breeze blowing in from Japan
Sunset- hazy orange peach
No one talks about invisible
dive bombers
Smell of burning plastic
tentative attempts at solace
painting by numbers:
1.The yard behind me
2.Marlboro cigarette pack smashed flat in gravel
3.Modelo beer bottle (broken)
4.plastic water bottle (torn)
5.old tire (shredded)
6.plastic grocery bag (tattered)
7.styrofoam cup
8.pvc pipe (crushed)
9.a long-spine mickey mouse cactus leaf head.
(23)
Nothing but a tin shed with a
tarnished mirror nailed to the wall,
tool box for scissors and comb,
a picture of a woman in bikini
torn out from a magazine and
tacked to the door, locks of hair
on cement floor. His chair solid
as a tank, so many haircuts, straight
razor shaves, the footstep worn smooth
I got a haircut- damn those scissors
dull- He lived in downtown L.A. but gave
up, like me. Gave up on what? Nothing
but the sound of dull clippers and wind
on a dusty Mexican street
(24)
“Zona Rosa” (Red Light district) some-
one told me about Anthony’s Lady’s bar
“Ah hell, I haven’t been laid in a year-
no sex, can you imagine?”
No bread for sex though sex is as
essential as bread. more nutritious, too
a dingy flop “Gris Motel” my skin itched
at the sight of its red doors with
broad shoulder eyeshadow transvestites
winking a friendly smile at the corner
spiteful street hookers, horribly
angry, aging, hookers with bull dog
faces covered in lipstick sneers
no-tuna-today-fishermen linger with
beers, a pimp smokes cigarette
in doorway, man with leather keychain
for sale cusses at me.
(25)
Did anyone see the cartoon about the line?
I just read flatland- fell in love with a triangle
Hush, Josh’ll tell you- he remember “Yes!”
the line, and the curly-Q!”
I wanna’ play a game of pool
Billiards? (nobody calls it billiards)
Ya’ do if you’re a gentleman
What are you trying say (gulp)
VCR Tape “Donald Duck in Mathematics Land!”
Surly wise guy quacks, hustling, running
the table. Quick, I need some tips… Ah forget
it, We ain’t got a TV, VCR, or Pool table.
Billiards. Well, bank shot is all I got
(26)
Old Vincent Van Gogh if he painted a door
he’d paint this one on a warm Sunday night
he’d paint red paint chipping off stone door-
frame, sweet smells of gardenia and gasoline
Date trees everywhere, sound of slow cars…
Children play in plaza beneath shadow heavy
drooping trees- laughter. Not sure what it feels
like although we die and live all at once. Just
shadow church (built by calloused and bloody
slave hands) courtyard. Pin prick stars, diamond
stars, billions of iguana stars; wooden cross visible
in the invisible night (no blood) I sit on sincere
wooden bench welcome for worry weary hides
like mine.
(27)
No sense of time like “Good God!” marijuana
high- cocaine blankness cosmic communion
Staring at a tree (don’t know what kind it
is but it kind of has steely smooth skin)
perhaps I’m kind of one of its leathery
green leaves. incomprehensible
The sky- incomprehensibly
dark
tar, dark ink, void
(28)
Steamroom no room for oxygen
Ah boy wouldya’ get me a beer?
Hotter than hell in here
Who’s holding? The sumo masseuse?
The limping lame one-eyed towel attendant?
Hush! Into the Dante room!
Say yr’ prayers!
Never seen so much junk
goo mildew gunk then between
the cracks of these aqua green
tiles toe jam funk
Steamroom Fallout Shelter Blues:
The steam it burns like gasoline
on my fresh ink tattoo
The steam it burns like gasoline
on my fresh ink tattoo
If I ever live to see another day
I’ll have nothing to do…
(‘cuz it’s nothing- cymbal crash)
(29)
Now take a look
ya see yr’
buddy and yr’
buddy sees
you then we know
we’re all here
Buddy check!
I think I’m here
(Existential cruise missile)
Look again unless
you can see inside yr’
own eyes
If you weren’t
here then
yr’ own eyes
wouldn’t be
any good
for yr’ buddy
Ah shucks
somebody
is a jolly
good
fellow.
(30)
“I rather just die with everybody
as opposed to lose everything
I worked for-”
“Why we work for?”
California ain’t
nothing but a golden
shelf of rusty nails
over the angel abyss.
(31)
Wise cracks like crack of bat
“a stand up double, a triple!”
Genius boy is the best in the
league, all star starting everything
even manages
to crack a good one about Detroit
regarding article in
Mother Jones Magazine
describing horrible cop murder of a
kid in the projects
HAhhahahahhaa
a good one on a sad note but
delivered so innocently perfectly
no one even got sore about it
got to laugh to keep from
crying (otherwise I might be
crying about this flea of letters
on tip of my pen)
Hahahahhahahahah!
(32)
Mucho trabajo poco dinero
slaving for peanuts or coconuts
Soldiers with modified
machine guns (technical info
provided by 15 year old whiz
kid witness) sweat in the sun
to kill someone for meager
Juan seis pack paycheck
what lunatic thought of all this
(me no different cussing through
starving scribbles) Who?
Some wet blanket impotent millionaire
it weren’t god ‘cause God said eat
apples, be happy, have sex orgies,
mi casa es tu casa. It must have
been a dog beaten and flogged. (Or
just rabid foam and snarl for inspiration)
kibbles and bits kibbles and bits
keep chasing your tail- yelp yelp
every dog has its day, yep
(33)
cookie cut out cactus towers,
dark flesh hercules flexed arms
awash in spectral mercury atop
cliffs, ridges, plateaus, stark
charcoal sky almost too obscenely
black except for starlight pinpricks
and moon silver disk blotch as though
a film set misplaced from Republic
Studios or was it just the pure desert
stillness that overcame me?
(34)
a silver pearl
in the oyster shell sky
the desert
the empty sunrise
(moonset) highway no
closer than the smell
of dust to come
(35)
News Flash:
Duct tape not for ducks
(Beer cans tink)
We’re a hearty bunch- We’re at the
top of the food chain- We’re at the top
of our game- drinking intoxicants
is a sign of fortitude “drinking intoxicants
on this coach prohibited XXXX (crossed out)
mandatory! (ballpoint pen scribbled in)”
(just reporting)
“Want to see an american flag?
Roar! I’ve got one tattooed
on my back!”
Say goodbye to Captain Kangaroo
The space program is over- Say good-
bye to Howdie Doodie, Goodbye Felix
the cat, goodbye, goodbye Heathcliff the
cat, Marmaduke the dog- the space
program is over, the planets are gone…
(36)
If it ain’t the mushroom cloud
it’s a copper head or red-light-running
bus. No need to waste yr’ time with
self preservation Liz Taylor died
and did you see her blue eyes?
Coca-Cola Sweet Mexican recipe
like Oklahoma soda fountain sugar
sweet sugar high not corn syrup crack
I ripped the can (and we all can)
like a madman and fixed my guitar
with a shred of red painted aluminum
(37)
“Did ya’ know that you camped yr’ tent
right on the path to the shithouse?”
(sneer smirk)
“Every path leads to a shithouse
eventually.” (zen koan)
(so shut the fuck up)
shithouse or no shithouse
Hawks with mile wide wings-
feather kites in sacred shithouse sky
Regardless of shithouse, symphonic
contrapuntal bird choirs at dawn
like elegant slide whistle whimsical
genius songs. Nevermind shithouse
because weird chatterings of chirp-
chit-cher-yerp-chit-chit-ker-runi-
chit nighttime secret invisible chatter-
bugs. Heavy B-52 thrash of hawk,
wings low over my tent
with zero concern
for shithouse
(38)
Fair-skinned wild child of my irish mother
full of scrapes, cuts, scars, moles. Thinning
hair, growing gut, nerve cut numb leg, numb
skull. A golf ball to the 9 iron of time stalked
by UV rays (and now Xenon-133) can’t even
escape hiding in my tent as I witness arm skin
pinked in 1pm full sun furnace. I wear a pair of
mittens with no fingers (Chinatown 2 dollar) on
a hike through Indiana- Jones desert canyon.
“Worried about frostbite? Searching for penguins?
Building an Igloo?”
I wear a Pierre Cardin dress shirt (Goodwill 4 dollar)
long sleeves and collar, a bank tellers shirt in
a former life, ideal SPF to protect arms and neck
from sun since not choking from necktie noose.
“Where you coming from? Desert hike or an
analyst’s conference?”
I’ll drink to that,
genius boy
(39)
Another slum job a few years back on Union St
San Francisco courtesy of a sketchy Viking of a
woman met at some wine and weed trainwreck
of an occasion-
Job description as follows:
“Serve champagne flutes to women shoppers in
dressing rooms.” And if only it had been remotely
true (suffice to say the porn rag possibilities). The
Viking boss popped more pills than Jacks have Jills,
a glassy eyed horse pulling prices from the sky;
divinations for her black market haute couture schwag-
took what I could while I could, anything good, stuffed it
in my backpack and was fired two days later for laziness.
But wore my favorite shirt for years (clipped off $100 price
tag) Krishna Rags and what a foufou shirt it was everyone
adored it- the talk of the party- what style! what elegance!
And now in the sun hot desert dust, a mesquite thorn (with
no fashion sense whatsoever) an agnostic faux pas, a cheap
chipped nail ripped my claim to fame at the shoulder
(40)
animal hunter still pounding
war drum (distant inner soul
village)
Hay-ya-hay-ya-hay-ya
Hay-yay Hay-ya Hey ya’, all
them automobiles, microchips
antibiotics nuclear energies
ain’t changed all that (just yet)
skin is made of rice paper thin silk
flesh no matter if ya’ walk on coals
or fly in jets, I still heard ya’ sneeze!
Ah, schucks, Where’s the calamine
lotion? Me leg welts and itch
something mean- No mystery, no
robot, just ol’ fashioned bug pain!
(41)
Pitched my tent 200 yards away
(not like pitching tent at the back
of trigonometry class Heather Hutchins
front row, so purty!)
Dinnertime I joined the refugees communal
meal hippy cuisine “I didn’t know the
bridge and tunnel crowd was a’ comin’”
clowning and clowning the only gold standard
for copper pennies to eternity
thinking of clowns and the continental divide
between happy and ugly- no divide at
all, really painted faces caked
white as cumulus clouds with white pastry
flour- clown face is a face nonetheless
and a cloud, too, a map… Schucks, this is
no time for a circus with sad elephants
downcast eyes browbeaten lions well past
retirement age a mangy mane feeble
growl. Cubist painting is a painting of clowns
‘cause look at them angles ugly and beautiful
(42)
RADIO ALERT: sharp knife under soapy water
equals man-eating shark of dishwashing tub.
RADIO PROGRAM: rebroadcast fifty years