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.
A room walled-in by books where the hours withdraw. At the foot of an unmade bed a bird of paradise. Motel carpet melted where an iron had been. His attention anchored to a late night glory hole. Of janitorial carts no heaviness like theirs. Desire seen cavorting with the yes inside the no. A soul kiss swimming solo in an open wound. The self as church where the whores now gather in.