Chaos, Control

Nothing stays my hand
while residues gather
in the arroyos
and across the plains
of this three-room wasteland
with its shimmering
ocean mirages of blue
inhospitable as
an august sky;

I navigate sofa
to stove to sink to
desk chair and this
horseshoe formation
its illusion of industry
where beset on all sides
by the incidents
of incidents
I reckon by sextant
the stars in my eyes.

How much easier
to defer the soul's
pleading imperatives
and ignore its
hip-shot imprecations
when chaos rules in
dunes of soiled laundry
and crumbling buttes
documenting an existence
like a geologic record

than to preserve order
in patient increments
etching the valley
with twin rails
for eastern cars
to labor westerly
relentlessly bearing progress
like water --
innocent of surrender.