The Diary of the Aimless Drifter

Rivers and Roads

Falling Rocks Part II

TOGWOTEE

 Thunder off this pass. The Drifter’s going either way, it’s all the same

the same falling off  to the Yellowstone, falling to Saltry Bay.

west to Saletry Bay

Or east to the Big Wind River.

Two Lovers ride the Aimless Drifter

Thunder up the Sunshine Sea     always flee to Denver.

West

Out of dark in a cowboy diner, the flying ice,

Race that ice down two-name river,

Out to the sweet rich, fat and lazy plain,

Left after lunch in Lovel, left then again at Laural,

Spin out there into the Eye

Race that ice down a road that’s called Eye 90

Gallatin, Madison, Jefferson

Missouri’s river’s history

It’s all way back behind that hill

Its way back there and wrapped in ice

Ice race

it is lost          it is finally lost

There’s a town with a hole in its heart

that up-side-down town

That place that they call Butte

An interstate bed, rib joint, bitter fine India ale,

A snowball fight and a tangled loving interstate bed.

The Drifter’s dug out in the morning.

Lovers always have lunch in Missoula.

The Spokane, that sweet home there      Spokane

And snow on snow on snow rut streets,

Drifter clearance.

Lovers thunder west in The Drifter.

Moses Lake for heaven’s sake.

The Yakima at Ellensburg

there ducklings learn to swim.

Snoqualmie Pass in a blizzard.

Countless rivers, short wide low down Cascade rivers,

Imagine the list from that Pass to three-fork Fraser

The Capilino

A tangled, candy bar Capilino bed

transCanada bed there beside the Capilino.

Horseshoe Bay, a diesel bridge, the road to Roberts Creek.

And eight months loving on Davis Bay

just past Roberts Creek.

Twelve minutes out from Earl’s Cove the world is all reborn

Twelve Minutes up from Saltery Bay the world is the world again.

The Drifter goes north no more.

TOGWOTEE

 Thunder off this pass. The Drifter’s going either way, it’s all the same

the same falling off  to the Yellowstone, falling to Saletry Bay.

west to Saltery Bay

Or east to the Big Wind River.

Two Lovers ride the Aimless Drifter

Thunder up the Sunshine Sea     always flee to Denver.

East

 A flight through old homes down past the Popo Aggie,

Middle and Little and then the Big flow down from the Winds

the incomparable Winds

And the sweet Sweetwater in its ruinous winds, tear apart winds,

split rock winds,

the up-end rocks in the up-end winds

and the dead dry Separations.

The North Platt, the Medicine Bow

that blood line whiskey from the Medicine Bow,

The Laramie and the Poudre, the Cashe La Poudre,

and above the Big Thompson…

A cousin camp, tangled loving above Loveland

always fleeing to Denver

And an airport bed, a rib joint, bitter fine India ale.

An airport bed, tangled bed, terror and solace, lovers fleeing

toward home.

And there it is to your lover’s left,

The grand blue mustang

raging mustang

the over-run mustang

The horse who killed Jimenez.

The Illuminati white cap space port big top

Shades of Larsson jingle ghost change,

Tin cups sound over breakfast burritos.

Its red or green and all of it is under the Illuminati

great fine splendor

The Illuminati great fine big top white-capped over-run blue big

red-eye killer Mustang.

(Atlanta)

Then Home.

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About Steven Nickeson

I've been a cowboy and a hobo and a truck driver and a newspaper reporter and magazine editor. I've written two text books on Native American property rights and been awarded national prizes for investigative journalism. I've ridden horses, all named Alpo, damned hard in the Westerns. I was once a range detective for Santo Domingo Pueblo and a private investigator for 18 years. I've also been a manuscript physician and writing tutor and journalism teacher and consultant to a literary agent. I've been a fencing contractor, and a welder in one of the most beautiful opera houses in the world and read Nordic Runes as a contract oracle on several psychic hot lines. My occupation for the last 19+ years is "Artist/Blacksmith" and I've done better at being an artist than any other calling. For nearly half of my life I have had an address along The Pan American Highway (Carretera Panamericana) in five cities/towns/villages, five counties, four states, two nations, two continents. I am in some way wedded to that road. View all posts by Steven Nickeson

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