Postmodern Rez Edge Inhalation: Paint Thinner Sublime

Gordon Henry Jr.

Chemical angels ride into this vacant room
as walls and windows drip away
into western fronts, post depression farm
boundaries barely barb-wired together, enclosed
stone pile pastures a gray horse standing still,
facing north, a snort of breath drifting
to a rail car passing horizon
the wind hinting the spirit of ice
nights so long you can only hope
the red blood circling for warmth
in your cells don’t freeze here
with the rest of this lost American dream.