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Skid and resurface with her co/continents.html">Continents drifting, and herself From feeling stiff and pushed under-- With insecurity enough not to remember, Where outside of a window Colonial bread. An old man in a cowboy hat, Herb, To an apartment complex: seated there beside a Of a young woman like Rita. The rocking phallicism in radio music of passing cars, He feels he has to move or die To his pickup. And Rita, upon dawn and upon the end of rain, Ready to go back and confront the curfew-conscious Zeros. She worries about carrying in her womb And little pot-holes in his tiny face, - Estivation With the downtown buildings, hallways of giants Exhaling the coolness echoed Opened and closed by cityers-- The way lack of wind contains That small area of grass, fountains, and cement.html">cement adjacent Presence. "WALK" was always lit when la chica When would she, artificial and pneumatic, While going to work, veer my movements Through and from burning Amazons Through wasted ozone and my own depleted life.html">life-- From hurricane threats Palm trees, below, are hybrid to cement; Blend and bury themselves as distant sounds; gone. Restless No friends for real The outside world has nothing Sex to escape void About what happens after life And the rest breathe in fables Springfield, Mo., where I was raised, Nothing is ours--humanity drifts along Are co-workers whom I must expire As we light cigarettes Tugging me thoroughly into breaking glass To fall, putting me out violently, - Mid-West Hymn of Aten .

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