Biography of Stan Petrovich
Appearing in a mirage, I wandered the Arizona desert for forty years, always alone, always lost. The heat takes its toll on verbs, not adjectives. There are not two ways to approach dehydration; only one, the one with symbols. Petroglyphs in rock show the way to live without presumptuous glory.
Then, tired of the blistering sands, turning to my later years I longed for the sea. The green currents called. So leaving the Gila mirage-maker behind wound my way to Massachusetts, to watch the sea examine what it created, and to die.
Except for me:
This paradox burns my boots,
And into life I pass;
Beating the well-meaning devil phrase,
Long night's doctrine,
pharasaism of time;
A jolt to the groin, pinhole of supergas-
I remain upright,
old lion in trance.