Railed

At night, Amtrak
and the thing
past billboards
lights up.
The MISSING posters
staple-gunned
to telephone poles
start to glow,
to radiate,
to speak,
and animals looking out from them
start to be
night hammerers,
curious
about the region’s others,
they ask from each to each,
“Hey, Quo Vadis?”
as lines connect
them, animals
whose faces,
ancient mystères
as Renaissance portraits
meant more to bemuse
than reveal, Holbein,
Sittow, human rat
or divine, those lips
just won’t say,
on which their souls
sit and then flit,
so as with constellations
of the night. And a darkness out there,
just past our window
is the greatest movie
on earth, its crackling
drags of interstellar
blacks of grooves
and thoughts a murderer’s
hatpins. So what, walk
from MISSING “Rose”
to MISSING “Sam”
all night
and you will hear
yowls in the distance
that might be
small-fanged bits
of home
who were
misplaced
by the cold,
religious night.
They might even
have forgotten
their names
in being
owned.

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