John K. Samson
Heart of the Continent
The north wind sinks the fence around a lot full of debris
Near the corner of Memorial and me
Where resurrected brick and drywall lead back into place
There's a terrified reflection on my face
All alone at the gleaming knife display at the army surplus sales
As the dusk descends and my inspiration fails
Ghost-filled discount parkas, sleeping bags
Peer at me from the crumpled dark

Inky bruises punched into the sky by bolts of light
And then leak across the body of tonight
While rain and thunder drop and roll then stop short of a storm
Leave the air stuck with this waiting to be born
As I stand before an unresponsive automatic door
Just another door that won't open for me anymore
The exit red gets brighter then blinks off
Presses me into the crumpled dark

There's a billboard by the highway
That says welcome to
(Bienvenue à)
But no sign to show you when you go away
And our demolitions punctuate
All we mean to save then leave too late
So I make my shaky exclamation mark
With a hand full of
The crumpled dark