Scrub landscape and stubble houses, junked automobiles parked nearby, trees felled and stripped for telephone posts, clumps of emaciated bushes pressed and scoured, this parody gripped by fingers anxious as clocks having lost their hands to digital display.

Monstrous tailings of radioactive ordure, the fabulous white bird who ripped open this region's stubborn womb carried children to his synoptic nest, cleaving their tongues, bating their breath in the marrow of scintillated bone.

Igneous spire
rises with
in a vision
between maintenance
and despair,
no longer
flashing, but
ticking, we
are almost
always there.