Damian Rucci

In Places Like This 

you can almost hear
the heartland love songs
the other night, someone’s
baby daddy raced the devil
down route 28 and lost
his motorcycle bent into
an obelisk outside the supermarket
a monument to a moment 
now eclipsed by sorrow

In places like this 
the buffalo no longer roam
instead they circle the skies
as lingering white clouds 
bringing rain down on the
brimmed hats of farmers
their children smoke marijuana
hunt for the cool glow 
of urban rebellion, the distant
horns of longing fade in the foothills

In places like this 
we dance along the gravel country roads 
in the beds of pickup trucks 
with the lights out so we can watch
the galaxy spin above our heads
watch the gods sway in celestial winds
cheap beer, our sacrament to nirvana
or whatever destination awaits us all
in the dark

In places like this
I am a ghost