Albuquerque Winter Sun dreams in foreign cities, Moroccan radio days desert reflection windmill water sips and well pumps pulling breath to sleeping lungs beneath sour apple trees in empty orchards along creeks and brooks between fields of green grass and wheat separate and illusioned before any Wednesday morning sleeping in on tomorrow and the next not hearing the cars and autos the buses and jetfighter engines and commercial planes hauling tourists and tired men and wives and screaming airport heart beatings, beatings, and hearts thundering through a turbine forced wind blown holiday, and metal wings cockpit screens and yellow eyed children tucked in beneath reinforced radar, and cabbies lean inhaling nicotine dreaming of other days and calloused hands from luggage rings and well paid executive leads never tip enough and college kids with reluctant home bound schemes, disaster dreams, in - flight movie screens headphones calibrated for lsd chewing teens at corner stores and fried Christmas seasons,brown lawn grass, dry wind and cool winter dust settling over rooftops, windshields, sleeping lovers, housecats, freezing dogs, junkyard mechanics, wandering new age bums and drifting bar hounds intent on another beer another beer and oceanic swimmers sippin’ saline lost in the tide.
Chris Davenport's Questions:
#1 How does this poem capture a season?
#2 Is it effective?
#3 Is the writing mature?
#4 Does the lack of punctuation seem odd or out of place?