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