I figure it must be in our durum,
in the iron of the grain
resonated with the rails it rode on
to the rebar in the cement silos
extending for miles,
metal irrigated prarie spines,
seedheads of enid bigger than their boots
covered in oil, red dirt, and alfalfa
boots up to the chin cut strange figures
desperado dna& wildcatter mrrroww
out now in deep oceans with lotus stalks
sipping rudely a wine not theirs to take
sucker sooners, good at sucking off the cream
promenading among young fresh minds and bodies,
it is fer sure in our wheat, then in our chow,
and darn dagnabbit in the worridoors of power
shucking loan by graft by script
watching land family blow away called the dust bowl
banks assume, amass.
the city
rises from the plain
buyonant sic of oil, water held apart in silica primordials
resistance flowers in fractal petro units,
shoots up her weed, enid
fingerstyled hedge fund a bowl of starry gritz
more grain than the milky way of a billion cereal mornings,
&grandma dorothy in camelot
if the refinery smell cut loose
from the masonry
3-13-15 Portland Oregon, living in the divorce Van
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