Drivers Needed

Autumn's goodyear
rips the road

ass open
spawning

mummified
cats by the dozens.

A rising loaf
bangs against

the oven
glass.

The wolf-heart
is looking in

Its face
like a sledge hammer.

If you drive
down May Road

in late
September

you can hear
the grinding of bones,

feel the hollow
eyes of a coyote

Pressing
your spine into Orion.