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As the descent began I got the distinct impression |
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Lake Michigan had been frozen for decades |
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I conducted the warmth from my metronome sternum |
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To our massive jetting vessel billowing plumes of spent fuel |
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The tundra under us cracked and ruptured |
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To reveal palisades |
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Made of blades of gray, gray bristling grass |
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And papulose lichen |
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I was so frightened |
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As my grip on you tightened |
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Your skin got slicker |
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I am a deserted bus depot |
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Though our approach suggested |
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An American hazy sea |
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Like the one I found inside |
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After driving you home once |
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Still half high |
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I-90 through utter desolation |
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I sense evil at the heart of each far flung well lighted home |
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I close my eyes and see cellar stairways |
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Vermiculated with delicate animal bone |
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Musty rooms house racks of fur jackets |
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Spattered with plasma |
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On a bus in Indiana |
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I called you and screamed |
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Under ceaseless patterns of weeping light |
