The Midwestern Debacle?
Sean Arnold

what are ye wanderers doin here?
whereforto is yr purpose?
‘Cross the poison landscape, the yawning face of journeyers.
the billboard constellations sheath such
in orange-gray fluorescent luminosity.
we are shat out crusty of evil titans
fiends for lust for life.
we antlike scorn nuclear power-plants graytonned behemoths
weird bug-eyed tiny souls wander withering landscape poison.
here we were lead,
to here were we lead,
where were we
where is here
to where for shall we go?
where for too shall we go?
ye all, i mean, ya'll should/sha'll go
far from here,
stunted words, werd stunned into shunted silence,
lie in the philosophical and actual violence
of a police state sort of place.
sort out yr place in this,
sortof a place,
yr place
in this.
this is in this existence, is it,
what, where, for too who and what is it for? here,
the smokey gulch of the midwest is a chasm of a forest that is on fire.
in the palpitating but barely smokey gulch of midwestern non-prosperity.
where to also is yr supposed prosperity?
an infinite jackhammer beaten infinite rubble heap.
call it that, that the land of infinite jackhammer beaten rubble heap.
where the words tho still lead somewhere,
we are somewhere,
somewhere is that what i hear, a finality to the finally somewhere where are
where are/ we/are we where, where were we/we are where/somewhere/
here.  here.