Flaked piston on rye
down the weeds from hangar 23.
The boys used to wire their Pratt & Whitneys,
wipe oil from their brows, feed a screaming bird.
Out on the farm, crumbling stains, fallow runway,
desert heat raising rust, jimson weed floating
past broken barstools and cigarette billboards,
absurd polygon-shaped signs with letters shot out,
past the ravaged Space Age a-tomic diner a-go-go,
past the old pancake house and cracked red vinyl,
they built a museum with a long, thin spy plane.
Back in '63, sleek as grease, it did mach three.
Drank four point three per second.
Range is still classified.
Somewhere out on the Space age Rust farm
Somewhere out on the Space age Rust farm
Last edited by Nazz on September 25th, 2008, 10:18 pm, edited 6 times in total.
- hester_prynne
- Posts: 2363
- Joined: June 26th, 2006, 12:35 am
- Location: Seattle, Washington
- Contact:
well done, I felt like I was in the car with you......passing the rusty ghost towns.....the abandoned equipment that meant so much to
our blossoming economy at one time.....the jobs all gone to other countries and their exploited cheap labor....and the U.S. erodes into
piles of oxidized dreams.....I liked it a lot, Nazz..............steve
our blossoming economy at one time.....the jobs all gone to other countries and their exploited cheap labor....and the U.S. erodes into
piles of oxidized dreams.....I liked it a lot, Nazz..............steve
If you do not change your direction
you may end up where you are heading
you may end up where you are heading
Hey Steve, I appreciate the reply. I guess every major city in the country has its seedy old decaying Strip with worn-out diners, broken-down roach motels, crime, rhyme and time(warp), pre-digital sort of grit, more tangible grime and spit, bacon and pancakes stacked high against the backdrop of a long hangover on chipped formica fifties... Yeah, there was a lot of that going on as I drove the eight-lane rust loop toward the flight museum on the other side of the tracks. When I got there I found an absurdly architecturally-advanced edifice, but inside were the same pitfalls and victories, the sublime, the purest aspirations and wreckage of the last hundred years or so of human attempts at flight. And those old hangars are just so damned poetic..
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