Year of the Bloody Sevens

there are new silhouettes in this farm field at night now and I hope that the shapes of digits on this farmhouse clock face tell of times the old storms rolled through ‐ when lightning lashed out...

Bridge Song

that railroad bridge sentence spelled out in dark Cyrillic letter struts overtop the Ohio finally sang me a train song this morning on such a snow globe set stage where dead drifted harmonies float...

A Poem: County Road 4

cold porch lights chase me thirty miles per hour downhill to the Ohio past bison in greasy fields old company town hollow filled by skinny creek run full of yellow dog seeps out back behind a mine...