the pothole sinks below my tire
under my chin where the engine gets in
I spin slow the golden thread
now lost
inside Wal-mart
the homeless shout their offers
9 dollars for shoes
8 dollars for almonds
don’t look at the scanner
above the city
our monuments surrender their light
she’s driving calm up Country Club
Golden Car
sacrificed once–
no, twice
once in memory
once in forget
in Iraq
but in Arcadia
in Cathay
the Great Wall
extending from the Punjab to the Aleutians
and then into our corner
of the United States
not of America
but Tartary
The Golden Horde
this star of Venus
this son of Jason
fleeced
her light hair back in a bun
young for thirty
thirty generations back
the license plate leaves off one letter for the star
my sons laid under the rails
sleeping
they say the red star was a farmer’s charm
long before communism
its bleeding edges
just the rust of well-used equipment
Aphrodite Urania’s
crop-worn thighs
the plastic bag
like a cheap condom
clings to my hand
over the tarmac
where my heart spins
the pockmarked canyon rises steep into heaven
Cathedral Peak
watching the light spin past my face
where I slept
