Member Poem

you sleep where gusted winds
are likely,
outside
five seconds

of finding the right
slit not allowing darkness
to take the room.
night is not
lonely

with mountains
to the west,
ghosts all
to the east, far

behind–
what else is keeping you awake?
count carcasses

across beige range
swirled
with transparent rivers,
meteorite paths…

with a roared
arrival,
overnight guests

come as creaks and
metallic tings,
a train like
canned music
through wooden chairs

up on tables
echoing
your dream

running through
lit cigarettes
looking out the window

at the rockies…
squall lasts
until dawn
by the time
you recognized your own
bag of bones,

say to own shadow,
“you look good in black.”