Saturday, January 16, 2016



I run east
and in the running find sunlight,
thunder, lightning breath
backbone in the dry leavings of the
Rockies do I

love the land? Of course I
love the land,

every horizon the death of twenty miles
killing the rear-view to save the windshield
choose a road you’re bound to miss something:
Fireworks for Jesus
Devil’s Tower

It’s fall the leaves
give up their blood
thrilling us with skeletons

proud to be an American
accident of birth but
thankful of my place
skipping across the country like a rock on water

One day I will grow weary and sink,
fix my back to a lawn in
Syracuse, Lansing

gaze up at the nicked black
torso of birch and

wait there for spring

Notes: In post-9/11 America, a contemplation on loving a country, as opposed to loving a land. A country is an artificial, human designation, so it should be held to the same rules as a friendship: I will be on your side, to a point, but I will do you the great favor of not always approving of your actions. And patriotism is almost always a con job.

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