from the cold road: houses visible (without wires)
entrenched in white snow: sherd forest archaeology.
car parked, bananas and bars packed, we hike.
a magnesium flame painting, freezing. a collage. a frenzy.
now, various floaters organized in armies playing war
or grazing, flamingo legs embalmed and crooked
and cooked, charred and glazed in a kiln, kin amid
the cold air, the ground is a movie screen.
the sun, sidelong, bruises our pilgrimage
and lays shadows in place to dissect and incise.
light like a plague, a pear flesh, a frozen swarm of locusts.
the forest opens, we reach aforementioned rural shantytown.
those houses when we parked and hiked to them
were not houses, they were barns, the windows, doors
all were painted in detail on pieces of plywood,
some big movie set gone missing (headline: found!
deceptive, chipping curtains hung out in the cold).

and why do those men build that fourth wall
shutting out the sky
bright blue ghosts chat in the moonlight tacked to
empty rooms, window holes, no heat
those repeated stem-cel rooms
a desk, a chair, a bed, who knows?
waiting in line for a purpose

from the cold road: houses visible (without wires)
entrenched in white snow: sherd forest archaeology.
a painting on fire, freezing. a collage a frenzy.
now, various floaters organized in armies playing war
or grazing, flamingo legs embalmed and crooked
& cooked, charred and glazed in a kiln, kin amid
the cold air, the ground is a movie screen,
the dancers become shadows when the sunset
made me want to go home, made my head hurt;
winter light weaving through the trees.
light like a plague, a pear flesh, a frozen swarm of locusts
or a woman walking in slowmotion, the day decomposed.
those houses when we parked and hiked to them
were not houses, they were barns, the windows, doors
all were painted in detail on pieces of plywood,
some big movie set gone missing (headline: found!
deceptive, chipping curtains out in the cold by the road).

from the cold road houses visible without wires
entrenched in white snow that made my vision dance
various floaters organized in armies playing war
out in the cold, the ground was a movie screen
the dancers became shadows when the sunset
made me want to go home, made my head hurt
winter light weaving through the trees
light like a plague, a frozen swarm of locusts
or a woman walking in slow motion, the day decomposed
those houses when we parked and walked to them
were not houses, they were barns, the windows, doors
all were painted in detail on pieces of plywood
deceptive chipping curtains out in the cold by the road

I'M IN LOVE WITH YOU. I REALLY LOVE ALL OF THE LEAVES AND BARK. YOU JUST GO ON FOR MILES. AND I CAN GET LOST, FOR REAL! I THINK IT'S ALL VERY PRETTY. BUT IN THE WINTER YOU MAKE ME REALLY SAD. BECAUSE YOU'RE QUIET AND SHUT. AND SHUT LIKE THE BANK ON SUNDAY. OR WHEN I'M ON HOLIDAY BY MYSELF. PLEASE STAY SUMMER FOR EVER. MAYBE THAT IS WHAT HEAVEN IS LIKE.

I’m slipping away
I am a warm rain of cold water
I am vindictive
I am passive
Push my face in the muck and move it around
I’m slipping away

Should I go, I’ll appoint you in charge of
Healing the hole in the ground where the tree
grew up for one hundred and fifty years

and I was dragged out of the ground
because the men in raincoats
and the beeping truck knew I was long gone
and I didn't