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And now a road connects the cul-de-sac |
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To the adjacent development |
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But there used to be trees stretching back |
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And there was no way through |
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And I was thankful for the mystery |
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But by the time that girl had hanged herself |
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I could have looked out my back window |
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And watched her neck just snap |
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Baseball field lights that shine over the shedding pine |
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Each bulb's a blinding sphere in the secular nation |
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Unhurried sirens moan |
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Pitches that glaze my eyes |
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She's just a pale fleshy typewriter-light |
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Advertisement for a wind chime that emits rays |
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Which resonate in the polluted sky |
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All entrances to the Merritt blocked off I mean |
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I'd love to believe that death's just the beginning |
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As the shutters fly open and the breeze gives me pause |
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I know what's out there |
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Morning phone calls silence and resentment |
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And craters a new moon built in a line |
