Sunday, November 24, 1985


At Camp Pendleton John stops to take a piss.
US govt. signs warn of eminent arrest 
for stopping or loitering here
& I imagine a military patrol in the bushes
waiting for the weak-bladdered.
We pass Ground Zero.
Truncated towers, multi-armed monsters
march east across Highway 101 from San Onofre.
I try on the round sounds. Onofre. Laguna.
La paloma, pigeon/dove es la verdad.
In Spanish there is no distinction between the two.
Open chord progressions of birds 
sit in arpeggios upon the scored lines
leading from San Onofre to the heartland.
John says, “All across the country 
these reactors are dormant bombs 
waiting for a fuse."
Huge heart-shaped bells 
strung from the power lines
labor silently in the wind.
San Clemente

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