by Damian Rucci
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
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.
