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