TURBINE | KAPOHAU

the Divide, the Valley, the Fault, the Sound

a bird’s territory, now only minutes across

giant hands pull at the gingerbread door

off the record, the variables are off the charts

these locusts wear their skeletons on the outside

a grove of osage orange grows up to be a fence

in the vegetable crisper, her bloodred corsage

step on a crack and break your mother’s heart

a boy has to ask what antagonism means

copper bulls eye the virgin prairie

the genius of the singing saw is lost on the hammer

on a liquor-sticky desk, jars stuffed with arrowheads

rows of men block out the sun in a salute

every shotgun has the same empty expression

buy your tickets for the cornfield maze