Journey at the Graveside
As he contemplated the damp he raised the riding crop three days.
Sooty and greasy and struck the boy across the mesa top.
Sweeping and stained with nameless stains throwing a dust cloud beside the grave.
As he pushed south.
As he looked toward the table in that direction.
As he looked at bread.
As he bent his knees his spine. He tore off bread and stone.
His trousers associated with formations carved by wind and sand.
The landscape forming a concept like a camel’s back.
As he pushed west.
As he remembered silent footfalls in that direction.
As he broke the watch.
As he was pocked into red rock like convulsions. Bubbles.
Striking against an iron post that refused loosening only one time or another.
A sort of ultimate experience he thought. As if he were again boy.
Robert F. Gross is a melancholic masochistic queer with anarchistic impulses. He’s directed plays, from Sophocles (Women of Trachis) to Richard Foreman (Hotel Fuck) and has published poems and short prose in, most recently, Zany Zygote Review, Anti-Heroin Chic, and Sein und Werden. He’s enjoyed his recent radio adventures on WAYOPlay and Juxtaposed Soliloquies, Elaborated (both on WAYO-FM). Among his favorite writers: Witkiewicz, Kleist, Powys, von Horváth, Walser, Dostoevsky, and Gombrowicz.