Who built the concrete heart?
Where do the bloodied footsteps lead?
How do the birds feel to have their poems interrupted?
How does a frog leap when the ground is shaking?
Where the automotive platelets congeal,
is it a scar, an accident, or both?
What feeds on that sticky mess?
What ghosts haunt when you tear out foundations,
repackage history to make a road?
Did we really think we could fly without falling?
Can you hear your own heart beat
over the crash
of the tracks?
Who do you answer to? Don’t you see
how we’ve made ourselves alone?
Who shouts in these woods?
Who waits at the edge?
When they killed the center,
what did we bury?
Who is going to stop feeding the roaring
monster?
You?