The Western Sunsets, Maybe?

Simon Diamond Cramer

And as my blank mind considers

what place deserves a poem,

I think not of what place, but

no place, a blank place. No,

I'm not talking about some figurative

painter's landscape, some white void within

my mind with some sort of

rubbish lesson about how

self-knowledge is important

and some sort of pseudoscientific Jungian

crap about the application of True Art

as The Form Of Supreme

Expression.

I'm thinking of Utah,

the Salt Lake

area particularly, that dry

bowl of earth and wind boxed in by

mountains and Mormons, where dust

chokes your throat and dries

your skin and the only water

you'll find is saltier than

the average Campbell's Soup. So why

did I, the Jewish Seattleite who gets nervous

when he doesn't see a Starbucks

stand after walking two

blocks, find it, in its own

way, serene?