The Trucks
When the trucks no longer
carried bodies
they carried deodorant
Christmas trees
scented candles
sides of beef
cigarettes honey bees
eye shadow
cheap perfume
they carried microchips
chicken parts prosthetic
joints spiral hams
condoms avocadoes
almond butter
vats of pills
they carried snow
that had accumulated
in a foreign square
the sensation
of diving into water
voices shuttling
across a table a galaxy
of traffic noise
arriving and arriving
into the economy
we were floating on
the trucks were floating
sealing the mouths
of loading docks
cut in the walls
at the back of town
they pulled away
into night air
full of cargo
wrapped and shut
and carefully tracked
we couldn’t wait
to unload them
* * * * *
In My Country
Mass graves outside the city
Long straight trenches
Industrially made
Caskets lined up perfectly
Like xylophone keys
A squat yellow bulldozer
Waiting to darken them over
(The drone that lifted this image
Into its hovering brain)
Snowfields unraveling
Into streams dark rivers
Cutting the prairie
The voiceless natural world
Opening
Foxes in the meadows
Coyotes in the alleys
I keep moving through
My tunnels in the air
I’m in the kitchen for water
Three in the morning
My neighbor’s radio
Spilling news across the yard
In the terrarium light
Of the ICU
Sick beds
Lined up perfectly
An instrument
Is what I think of
When I see such order
The machines breathing
Lifting and falling
Is the music of the State