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.
A lilting melody accompanies me
Down the white-rock earthen path-
Played by Pan, half man,
And the air is an arc of rainbow drops,
With the forest smell pervasive,
The tug of gravity pushing my thighs;
The brunch underfoot of my creature company;
He scares me more than a little,
The cleft feet and all;