“Rust” by Mike Tucker

lonely crunch of snow

wasteland of rust and trees

littered with tires and washing machines

a wreckage of ruined cookware and siding

beautiful as weeds

and sprouting like tumors

we live in a rural wasteland  of rust and trees

red-orange bleeds into dirty whites then rotten browns

and crushing grey skies

which fall on shoulders hunched against a brittle morning chill

sharp and deadly as old barbed wire beneath a crescent moon

we seek the medicine of vulture

we seek the healing ways of snake

to purify      to revive

as we eat our dead and shed our skins

and drink from poison cups

 

to breathe life back into an earth we have almost wasted

in our adolescence of machinery

frozen footsteps fall

and stubbornly remain

echoes of last night:

a fracture of hazel eyes and dubstep

beats             glitching like a mob

all night long

then crashing into frozen morning

and you safe and naked under quilts at home where it smells warm like rice

and

the faucets drip so the pipes won’t freeze

 

and me in this wasteland of rust and trees

each limb a twisted mudra

each bare branch a silent prayer

crying out

feed me the stars’ icy beauty tonight