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