I know

New York (Maine, Connecticut)

by highways;

the graffiti on the exit for

Poughkeepsie, the rusty,

abandoned car

before the I-90 turn.

(why don't they clean that up?)

You drag me behind

as you ravage this

red

white

& bruise

county, bear claws at my throat;

caught between your

(grisly)

embrace and the cracked, bubbling

tar below.

goddamn, I wish you'd stop;

this farce will be my undoing and I'm

so tired

of coming when called.