Burning rocket ship high.
Two handed,
white knuckled grip
on what I know
is gonna be
one wild ride.
A push
off the precipice of reality.
Every breath drawn,
pulsating
under a strange light,
growing the unknown flower,
burning fire in the western sky.
We used to cut across this prairie
with pure horse power,
then gun powder,
then coal fire,
and now giant, diesel serpents
tear through her skin,
hauling gods to their temples
in Europe and China
and other places
that could never give
less of a fuck
about the scars
on the beauty of her face.
It’s almost as if
only the stars remember,
and a great many of them
are dead and gone, too.
Winked off into supernova eternal sleep,
or just died from the boredom.
The river is low this year,
but there’ll be enough spring rain
to melt the snow
and get her flowing strong again.
I can almost feel
spring, summer, winter and fall
from this place
and imagine what it was like
before the iron serpent came
and bred its offspring
all along
this high-subarctic plain.
Before the smell of coal fire,
before everything
we see now.
Breathe out,
and everything starts to fade.
Breathe in,
a vision of today.
HG – 2021
