1.

It’s unclear to me where we are going.

I see nothing but fog on the periphery

of the headlights, and brown leaves

swirling in a circle of snow, wind

blowing trees down, the roof crushed flat

of a neighbor’s home, men with guns

dropping deer to drive to the convenience

store to shoot a man who had robbed

them of cheese, chasing through the felled

branches, the moon in a harrow of clouds

wisping free but no sun in sight, no breeze,

nerves stitched, skin ruffled, nails sharp.

2.

We’re coming one for the other. Don’t leave

me alone, my tribe, circle me with warm arms,

bring me into your heart where I will glare

hungrily out the window, “Let me tell you

brother don’t come in unless you want

big talk and a bullet between your teeth.”

3.

Sheer idiocy of this cascade and cavalcade,

this crescendo that never ends, a mushroom

cloud, consequences blooming skyward

before falling, a wave of fire and rubble,

a fury unabated by love or circumstance,

reaching up to the light finding none.