The yards grow ghosts. Between the limbs and wings,
bleached street-lit things, I’m best at moving on.
Hunt-heavy, gray, slunk overlow like so
much weight got in the way, my shape’s the shape
of something missed, flash-pop or empty frame.
Though you could say I’ve made a game of this,
and though midtrickery it might be true,
when evening lingers in the key of leaving
my senses swoon. A synonym for stay,
I’m always coming back. I chew through traps.
I love whatever doesn’t get too close.
Between Memphis and Bristol
Turtletown Cottontown Reagantown
Trade Pigeon Forge Coalfield Hurricane Gray
Huntersville Fisherville Manlyville Guys
Static Gentry Difficult Bride
Shackle Island Bone Cave Pioneer Swift
Wartrace Nixon Ransom Stand Gift
Barren Plain Nameless Cherokee Pope
Campaign White House Purdy New Hope
Bugscuffle Speedwell Tazewell Yell
Brick Church Hanging Limb Burnt Church Bells
Littlelot Bucksnort Bitter End Boone
Needmore Prospect Liberty Moons