midwest voodoo



sky like bison
as never ending point
on worlds fat lip
not so much
my mind touched gold& blue & vast
constant
flux of wind to
no wind
am i always this cold when melting
both can be chopped
to borderline extinction
i drive faster

the further things grow
apart
between potter/dix back country
middle of panhandled nothing
& rain walls miles away
never seeming to fill up
your father's father's well
who can stay
when there is no break
& the howling is mistaken
for hungry coyotes nipping at your feet
bc there are no more bison
to kill