Thursday, May 20, 2021

t.l. kryss poem


Turbines, Rushing Ferns




If you wander far enough past any factory

past electricity, past night 

you can still see the shrinking buffalo,

the grass explosions.

You can find what   went wrong in any war,

in any bed;

why

the true railroads stepped around waterfalls,

scattered,

and went underground

why all radios 

are only

paneled rivers.