It’s unclear to me where we are going.
I see nothing but fog on the periphery
of the headlights, and brown leaves
swirling in a circle of snow, wind
blowing trees down, the roof crushed flat
of a neighbor’s home, men with guns
dropping deer to drive to the convenience
store to shoot a man who had robbed
them of cheese, chasing through the felled
branches, the moon in a harrow of clouds
wisping free but no sun in sight, no breeze,
nerves stitched, skin ruffled, nails sharp.
We’re coming one for the other. Don’t leave
me alone, my tribe, circle me with warm arms,
bring me into your heart where I will glare
hungrily out the window, “Let me tell you
brother don’t come in unless you want
big talk and a bullet between your teeth.”
Sheer idiocy of this cascade and cavalcade,
this crescendo that never ends, a mushroom
cloud, consequences blooming skyward
before falling, a wave of fire and rubble,
a fury unabated by love or circumstance,
reaching up to the light finding none.