In a wood-burned night the sky flamed allover green,
blood blue and white. The trash-collecting thunder
dumped and his skin inked over, fleshy silkscreen
for the printing of radioactivity. Oh God in wonder
am I dedicated to your spilled paint can apocalypse,
the melting of his body and mine in the burnout furnace
of this sacred turnpike. Say your blow’s not innocuous,
the flash photo clouds no routine overcast turn. Face
should be slipping from skull. You keep bodies bound
to the still skeletons of night-driving until penny metal
does the dissolution. Stay you Lord with us deathbound.
The sooner we soup in the road’s shoulder the less hell
he’ll touch. Light, push fear from his breast and come
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