“Trump likes Nickelback”

     - Graffiti highway outside of Centralia, PA

grained radon shifts towards us,

color swirls desolate

and the wind blows deviant wishes

the fissures

live& breathe

under loving coats of chemicals&

foot- fall.i wish I was from here.

i have gold. i think

i can feel the ground- breath rise

&fall but maybe that’s just what I

want,something

to not have lost the fight.

the wind groans in anger.

i am facing inevitability dressed in

rock, twigs grasping

to stay flush with

asphalt and hillside alike,

hills rolling to

Ruin.

when i too am dying, this is

the landscape of my body:

cracked in warmth, sugarcoated

nostalgia, fissures

deep& indistinguishable

from landscape.

entropy smells like the

death of dreams, wafting its way

sprayed down this remembered highway;

i am home.