Small-town Oklahoma.

the sparrow perched on the pale green truck

twitches, alone,

sings

freedom

but will never range

outside of these horizons.

“they all want out,”

she says,

“but it’s like

a magnet, and

they always

come

back.”

Anadarko.

Hopelessness tastes

like red dirt

and it

smells like

cigarettes

and asphalt

on Fridays

in empty parking

lots with empty

nights and empty

pockets and empty

minds.

Helplessness looks

like a mirror

and it

tastes like

silence.