kyle poem

and what if nothing was ice, what would you be
there will never be the greenest green
it's all just another tree poem
or tooth tooth

keep whistling
or wind, wind, and the wind washing
off the high desert dust
glued to the lingering soak of nebraska

everytime you kiss them good-bye
they believe what you say about death
holding on to the last second they saw any of you
even the flat plains