White-Rimmed Strangle

 

White-Rimmed Strangle

you can lock my keys in my car any day

slipping

out to princess vents
midwestern sex on sex
on shimmers in smoke
bunched up cold hard windshields
and graceful crying tombs

to earth, little girl

spears of electric motorists
telephoned smokeless

looking seventeen in places
minute on a bulldozer
a folding chair heard no birds

crisscross of mountains

the river hung there
with windswept hair