John K. Samson Heart Of The Continent
North wind sinks
the fence around a lot full of debris
n ear the corner of Memorial and Me
Where resurrected brick and drywall lean back into place
There's a terrified reflection of my face
All alone at the gleaming knife display
in the army surplus sales.
As the dusk descends and my inspiration fails.
Ghost-filled discount parkas, sleeping bags
peer at me from the crumpled dark.
Inky bruises punched into the sky by bolts of light
and then leak across the body of tonight.
While rain and thunder drop and roll,
then stop short of a storm
Leave the air stuck with this waiting to be born.
As I stand before an unresponsive automatic door,
just another door that won't open for me anymore?
the exit red gets brighter then blinks off,
presses me into
the crumpled dark.
There's a billboard by the highway
that says 'Welcome to'
'Bienvenue'
but no sign to show you when you go away.
And our demolitions punctuate
all we mean to say, then leave too late.
So I'll make my shaky exclamation mark
with a hand full of
the crumpled dark.
