Pegasus City

A line of wet black birds on the power

wire, coal drops, hunker

elbow to elbow. I will gun it

 

for the open drawbridge. There

is a casket I need

to go dancing on.

 

Hellbent in a red-earth rusty

Benz. Mesquite trees crouch, thick

as the skritch of a wire brush. My Greek

 

chorus, hoarse as wet gravel

in a perpetual drought. The hands

of the highway butterfly out.

 

The luxe nubuck interior balloons

until I’m a drawn cat, forepaws clawed

to the wheel—tail ‘round the stick shift.

 

What is there to steer for

there is no world awake or in dream

I can’t brake.


Also by J. L. Yocum