Texan

Texan


North: Via the Rusted River

Take the first exit off the aorta and stay on
I-35 for about a half-day till you see a semi
diving into a cotton-field. Keep straight past
the barb-wire with a piece of someone’s

shirt caught in its teeth. You’ll see a smoking thing
grinding out ears and stalks.
You may find snow: Don’t panic!
Your grandma’s ashes are safely buried
somewhere,
and if you can get through
the City-of-Plywood-Windows, you’ll see
one thousand lakes,
skyscrapers and a police station
that looks suspiciously similar
to a cathedral.
In the City-of-Rushing-Water-Sounds there’s a pair of loons;
the male tucks his feet for the landing,
his mate sharpens her beak

below the surface film.





West: En Route to the City-of-Wendigos

Same distances but fewer trees. The cloud plateaus
remind me of a nurseries in time of war.

There is little precipitation
to anchor the Martian dust

and the exoskeletal homes
creep uncomfortably close to the asphalt.

Somewhere there’s a dead volcano.
Take my hand and I’ll show you

where the imaginary lines of our states
should be. Those toothpicks across the crater,

that’s a forest; the dry socket
beneath your thumb, a quarry.


 
East: A Love Song (based on true events)

When Byrd was still alive the good roads used to go
To Louisiana. Lean too far left
And you’ll end up in City-of-Waiting,
Arkansas.
The terminal is less cavernous
Than the Greyhound Station
In the City-of-Frozen-Heroes, but at least here
The pulled pork sandwiches aren’t as dry.
Look outside and you’ll see
What looked like poplars
From inside the plane. Somewhere
Behind a barn
A flock of Mormons congregate
To watch a sloth climb.





South: There’s a Riot Going On

Fearing the gerrymander
the Democrats fled
to Oklahoma and New Mexico
while we nodded

inside a yellow bus. I saw the bridge
where the evening bats were supposed
to erupt like a mushroom cloud of moths;
not that you’d know anything about that.

But you did sleep next to me
in the same aquarium; downtown,
City-of-Optical-Illusions. There you felt
the sand-paper skin of a frightened

ray, and stared into the censor-bar
eye of a speckled invertebrate
wedged between the rocks,
trying to tell you something.