The Heartland

Rusted tin cans sprout up
through the browning weeds,
on the side of railroad tracks,
behind a Catholic university.

Deer lick the last salt remnants
from the ground as a drunk,
frat-type, kid drinks piss for
twenty-five dollars and a beer.

Uncovered moments of disbelief
pummel common sense and freewill
creating a superstitious ability to

wander around wondering about
capability in desolate towns and find
that an inner being has ripened into
multiple truths and falsehoods.

Squeaks, pounds and screams surf
the waves that reverberate throughout
ear canals, their radiance externally

exposes their unforgiving trespasses