In this life of syncopes, going out only
To walk railroad tracks with palm
Tree overhang more than suffices.

Will they release your grey cannon
After you’ve passed? Be sure to invite the
Midwestern gothics, us rural catastrophists.

Have you thought much about that
Tearing up? It’s a shattering you don’t
Remember, now dismember: to be a forest,

Not yet a night of dark trees, not even close
To cyrpesses. Why the helicopters?
Are they not tired of this

Damaged grandeur? Surely this country
Generates more than enough nostalgia
To break the horizon of the present

With its active shooters, overwhelming
Attitude of gratitude, every American
Man-child in quartz crisis.

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