whistles past hacked-down fields of corn, heading towards a boy who whittles an effigy of himself. We go on sleeping through sirens and crimson strobes flashing on remains no one can identify till we line up at dawn to see who's missing. At the zoo this morning, a girl found half-devoured in a moat, two lions licking their chops, Little Rock, Arkansas the only proof left on her body to show how far she was from home, a tattered copy of The Odyssey later found in her purse. Did she love her life? We warn our children not to lay their ears down on the tracks in wintertime, knowing how it's not always best to know what's coming our way.
Hard to imagine getting anywhere near another semi- nude encounter down this concrete slab of interstate, the two of us all thumbs— white-throated swifts mating mid-flight instead of buckets of crispy wings thrown down hoi polloi— an army of mouths eager to feed left without any lasting sustenance. Best get down on all fours. Ease our noses past rear-end collisions wrapped around guardrails shaking loose their bolts while unseen choirs jacked on airwaves go on preaching loud and clear to every last pair of unrepentant ears—