weak in the crossed mess of stems,
An underground signal
Brush a leaf, a wire by accident
The sudden, terrible sun
the ground black as static.
your fingertips babble, their prints
LANDSCAPE WITH FORGOTTEN MACHINES
Searching the creeping charlie and wild grape
barbed wire from the vine that burns
Two boxelders have twisted their trunks
the blades. On a hay rack's gray slats
Somewhere inside these thorns and burrs:
deflated innertubes that stick like leeches
rust welds together the lost washer rings.
These poems arise from studies of what I call lyrical locations, which I define as places so full of emotions and ideas that they cease to be settings.