Truth: Bliss and Helplessness

When the orange artificial fog
Doesn’t obscure my window,
I look down
To see the kids carving
Eight foot messages
In the ice.

Truth: American Desert

The frame twitches, and recomposes
Shadows on the wall of the apartment
Cast on posters, cast on television
On the news

Look into my eyes:
I’m tired of all the casual
Acquaintance talking
(and straight-line walking)

Everyone is so far away tonight
Distant.
Communicating by sonar
Beacons spread across
Neighbor states
Waves crossing above the
Amber waves.
The windmill spins in twilight.

Gray. All around. Gray.
In love with indeterminacy.
Something to peer into when
I can’t
See the eyes
Of my lover.

A plane flies overhead,
And the passenger side is empty
There’s a suitcase in the back
(an exit trap).

Send me perfumed letters
And I’ll sleep beside them.

Sonar.

Fields.

Vast. Corn crops. Of. Distance.

The great American
Desert.