Coal Fire


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,


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

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