the men electrocute me drunk
my body explodes azure

death spectacular
and shaking

(you always smelled
like fresh bread,
buttered corn in July)

I am pumpkin man
sad, abandoned on November’s stoop
face drapery slicing

a downpour: worms groping sightlessly
for each patch unsubmerged

a child’s balloon fantastic yellow recklessly aloft
string trailing the failing grasp of an outstretched hand

the men will crank-up their lightning machine
my brain smooth
a carnival, cotton candy

how many lives
burned away with each volt?

(this heat is different)

my thunderhead sweeps down and away
blown fierce
(bring in the furniture)
now purple sky, ash trees touch
their toes
the sand around my feet glass
mirrored
I look down see
myself looking down

on an Iowa highway
borne west on silent wind,
within the tires of our truck, or the invisible push driving the rain
into our yard