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

Wings Made of Walls

Blocked from a world of caged birds,
little girl landscapes and atomic rays.

Kept safe from the pterodactyls that
never clipped their Cretaceously wings.

Gliding over volcanoes, orphaned
soldiers standing guard protecting

blood rivers flowing on meat factories.

With no windows to jump out of,
the descending caused by the weight

of wings made of walls left a crater
in a small town just outside of here

Incarnate

Two Heineken 16oz. cans tumble from my
pockets, ricochet off a brass rail, and

tumble over themselves on a glass floor.
Reminiscent of Chinese acrobats or

Russian ballerinas by way of Holland.
The bouncing sounds like spoiled children

in clogs stomping on a hardwood floor.
They wind-up napping on a maroon,

ripped throw rug. Sprawled out,
it looks like a map of Minnesota.

The beer stains mirror a Land O’ Lakes.
Rough waters ceased to keep me away.

Mellencamp Said So

An old brown rocking chair poses
in the August heat. A flannel shirt
drapes the chair’s shoulders.
It has perfect posture and a
multicolored blanket with various
golf-themed images for support.

The Who and a fan from Sears
makes life easier. With The Who
and a stationary rocking chair
one could wonder if rock is dead.

Mellencamp said it was.

Maybe he thought Keith Moon
should have listened to Queen’s
“Keep Yourself Alive.”

Walking Around the Neighborhood