the sudden and nearly complete immolation of outlook montana
my kind of town
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i love this land her land -- outlook being
one county over on the vast northern plains
over there the sharp flare of sun ignites the air to make a baby
blue sky
rolls the dry steppe as far as the watering eye can see
trees in green cottonwood fences the lazy infrequent streams
silvers the extra-absorbent concrete-tamponed missouri
at ft. peck
tv brought me the icons
the beneficent golden bomb in the sky
the scorched to black diesel train
which parked for fear of bringing fire
yet sparked outlook montana
sending up a wall of flame
burning all the sweetgrass
all four grain elevators
twenty-four modest homes
the only general store
sparing lives churches and the lonely bar
on halloween
in the atlas
a little circle to a name
exaggerated by fine map-making
diminished
by a shishkabob of a a sparking train
sitting on a spur of the great northern line
i wish to write her.
this to say:
hi. and hey.
i knew -- without knowing.
i saw -- without looking.
i motioned vaguely -- before being told.
something was going on in outlook.
outlook itself was going!
looking out through my looking glass
i reflect on my own igniting. you train girl you.
