I keep having dreams
about you, where your
face is hidden by the brim
of an oily hat, there are dozens
of pictures scattered across a
burlap armchair and even
though we are inside, I can
see these giant oil rigs out
in the pasture, through
the walls that hide nothing
(not even you),
and I am fighting to stay
awake, reaching for your
hand and relieved when
you don't pull away
I've been seeing your name
everywhere, on billboards
and street signs, branded
diesel trucks, stamped on
bumpers and endorsed on
checks--

what the hell am I supposed to be praying for?