Two Poems from Moab


i tried six salutations
on Kane Creek’s gravel road.
All the men refused me,
but one mother waved
from her dune buggy.

Behind her mirrored goggles
I’m sure the corners
of her eyes
were creased from smiling,
year after year
child after child,
sprouting in her home.

the men did not wave.
Couldn’t be bothered.
I know now, thanks to their
that they are stronger than me,
and their penises,


Patterns in the mud
remind me of
how little I matter.

you can hunt* me,
but I’m just a ripple.

I’m just, spilling ink,
a carnal, sugar-filled gorilla
burning lucky dinosaur bones
on a lark.

My wheelbox spits clouds
out it’s rusty asshole,
smelling putrid, but thankfully
the vapors are invisible
so I don’t have to care.

I don’t have to think.
These days, it’s considered overachieving.

Daydreams can’t be stopped

but they are passé.

Two Poems from Moab – written by Jackson Emmer – 10/2018

* = google

Leave a Reply