This Is What Came Out Of My Brain This Morning  

The bamboo pearl colored car rolls
over         and          over.  
Words roll off poets’ tongues,
images roll gently down bare,
from mountaintop removal, inclines,
into a quaint village of rubble
ruined saltbox and single-wide trailer
homes, into the open, brightly painted
red door of the corner store, where canned
goods lay strewn in murky mud brown
and grey slush, and the car rolls
over         and          over.
Teeth lay like scattered seeds
in the coal sludge residue next to tongues
with no voice, next to eyes with no sight,
and the dream of the car rolling
over         and         over 
becomes a reality, inside a dream
as I worry about the weak teeth,
the failing sight, but not life,
because my breath has been,
and still is, devoid of the power
to move anything but air.