Sidewalk, a moon
we are in the weeds about
weeds apparitional
buffalo wing activities, it.
Underfoot is it—
no thing’s coming
into earshot momently;
it might take all night.
Rolling down the highway
in a cloud of pot smoke
we hold a box to our heads
we listen to the caller
on the wild card line:
reverby paranoia flutters.
Let’s go sit on the shoulder.
Headlight beams can last for hours
out here under her
moonlit infrared signage
I want to believe in;
don’t come out in us
everything admonishes
alluvial sigh, alkali sigh.
Out in the nation
trucks haul bodies.
We could sleep
if we were creosote and true
be tiny bits of things in lungs
have tiny awake dreams have
libraries worth fleeing
imaginal word-tips
limestone queries.

JARED STANLEY is the author of Book Made of Forest (Salt Publishing, 2009), as well as the chapbooks I Something Scott Inguito You (Scantily Clad, 2009) and The Outer Bay (Trafficker, 2008). With Lauren Levin and Catherine Meng, he edits Mrs. Maybe. He lives in Merced, California.