by William Kier

walking like a ghost and trolling with attuned ears
mind behind, dragging, dragging in noise
it's suppertime, Jack, and where's mine?
dragging in the noise, and where's mine?
hooking a thrush's song amidst a chainsaw
drowned in chainsaw, bus horn, cell phone
nothing biting, but a boot full of bottom
full of a thrush's song, drowned
and where's mine?

the belly wiggles, nibbling on itself
a roadside collection of rusted parts woven in grass
a rot-reddened pole dragging on rot-reddened chain link
growling like a loose bone xylophone
in steady discord

distortion comes like a silken bridge
traverse from song to scream
distortion comes like a silken hole
swim in a pool of glitzy reverberation
and effectively drown out every damned thing