Poem of the Week

& coming toward us out of the fog

 is the uncoupled next train of everyone

southbound to the U.S. tonight

 we can run into the cornfield

the so many stones of us lunging

 the so many hands of us clear

popping the sockets of the dry stalks

 until it seems the fog has bones

that are pioneer documents

 being shredded & then absorbed

into the fog we are gulping

 as we turn to listen to the lengthened roar

think of all the times over the years

 we have noticed our own reflections in windows

& looked away or through ourselves

 at what is really there

a stack of transparencies

 the stills of an animated short

two cadavers named Adam & Eve

 our first & last selves - frozen

we dyed their insides orange & blue

 thinly sliced them crown to heel

& photographed each slice

 sped up in sequence

the body comes at us like art

 as we hurtle through

listen to them all back there

 crying to be prized free

from the blown rust dahlias

 of the tail lights in the fog & the high beams

screening wide against cotton-batting

 soon we will hear the local sirens

& scream to be casualties among them