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by Damian Rucci

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In places like this

you can almost hear

the heartland love songs

the other night, someone’s

baby daddy raced the devil

down route 28 and lost

his motorcycle bent into

an obelisk outside the supermarket

a monument to a moment

now eclipsed by sorrow

 

In places like this

the buffalo no longer roam

instead they circle the skies

as pensive white clouds

bringing rain down on

brimmed hats of farmers

their children smoke marijuana

hunt for the cool glow

of urban rebellion, the distant

horns of longing fade in the foothills

 

In places like this

we dance along the gravel country roads

in the beds of pickup trucks

with the lights out so we can watch

the galaxy spin above our heads

watch the gods sway in celestial winds

cheap beer, our sacrament to nirvana

or whatever destination awaits us all

in the dark

 

In places like this

I am a ghost

 

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Damian Rucci is a writer and poet from New Jersey whose work has appeared in Cultural Weekly, Beatdom, Public House, and coffee shops and basements across the country. He is the author of five books of poetry, founder of the Poetry in the Port reading series, and a two time poet in residence at Osage Arts Community in Belle, Missouri. Damian is the unofficial poet laureate of 711.

 

 

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