"Darkness on the Plains of America"
(composed 2001 August 4)

We hurtle forward, our great speed betrayed
Only by the flash of a far-off beacon
Rendered strobe-like by the intervention
of otherwise invisible railcars
And the occasional hard jerk rightward
Entirely unlike our wonted gentle swaying
To which we have become accustomed.

This is the great heartland of the nation,
The breadbasket of the world,
The center that binds the coasts and circumscribes the culture.
The track ahead is a river of industry
Sustaining and invading the great swaths of farmland
Where the individual of legend has been swallowed up by banal
Economies of scale.

Here is the heartland, where different is dangerous
And attitudes flow with the tired viscosity of molasses
The reservoir of culture lies in silent judgment, unsure
How to equilibrate with the world toward which we rush.
Instead the quiet majority watches us flash by, clutches
The familiar covers, and prays that the sun will rise.