new panaceas abound, 
                         new promises of paradise, 
                         new to me and oddly old 
                             to others, Utah 
                         sours dreams and it should 
                         begin with a P for its 
                         perversity and putismo . . . 
                         been here over a week, damn, 
                         but it seems forever... 
                         Saltyville of a Lakeburg 
                         September 30, 1977

Letter to My Ex-Texas Sanity


left you, Tejas,
over a week ago,
had to,
for work
is here and not there,
home
resides wherein one lives, 
and i live (almost do) 
in salt lake city. 
it hurls its salty dust 
at your soul's eyes, 
burns its vapid senselessness 
into the furrows 
of your thoughts, 
it urges you to give up 
life, liberty and the 
real pursuit of serfdom, 
clothes, everything, 
with missionary zeal, 
demands
your capitulation,
bicycles you to death,
and then intones
that heaven
merely is for those
who have renounced

all semblance of having been 
salient/lively creatures 
who lived to love 
while loving to live, 
ay, utah brutalizes 
hope
with its spineless 
and amorphous
gelatinous mentality.

perverse and anti-human, 
your temple 
manufactures 
complacent/placid smiles 
to keep all niggers out,
your westside of salt lake, 
awash with fetid meskin smells, 
it creaks and groans 
with fear
that we might multiply, 
your fear of loathsome Laman 
defines the way you see us, 
for Lamanites you think us,
a mass of swarthy people 
who revel in their evil. 
ay, brutah, putah, utah, 
whose land is so majestic, 
with deserts y montañas 
and nature's pungency, 
you fear
those who are darker, 
and claim to be so saintly, 
enslaver of the frail 
and dementer of the fragile, 
your sacrosantimonious 
attempts at being holy 
are ludicrous at best, 
at worst imperialistic 
and ever missionizing.

you flail, hither-thither,
the differences you fear, 
and though you feel superior 
and smug in your behest, 
you strive like hungered zealots 
to make us look your best,

oh, poor and foolish bigots, 
you have no need to fear us, 
for you have nothing worthy 
to send us on in quest. 
you see,
this land belongs 
to all who wish to love it 
and within it reside. 
we'll be ourselves, ay, utah, 
and celebrate our difference, 
we'll look at you and smile 
and continue on our way 
to live within your valleys
while we project our name . . .