Indiana

As the descent began I got the distinct impression 
Lake Michigan had been frozen for decades 
I conducted the warmth from my metronome sternum 
To our massive jetting vessel billowing plumes of spent fuel 

The tundra under us cracked and ruptured
To reveal palisades 
Made of blades of gray, gray bristling grass 
And papulose lichen 
I was so frightened 
As my grip on you tightened 
Your skin got slicker 

I am a deserted bus depot 
Though our approach suggested 
An American hazy sea 
Like the one I found inside 
After driving you home once 
Still half high 

I-90 through utter desolation 
I sense evil at the heart of each far flung well lighted home 
I close my eyes and see cellar stairways 
Vermiculated with delicate animal bone 

Musty rooms house racks of fur jackets 
Spattered with plasma 
On a bus in Indiana 
I called you and screamed 
Under ceaseless patterns of weeping light