Three nights into the work
at my steel desk
I struck a deer. If I sit in the red
steam long enough, inhale deeply,
I am safe. In isolated incidents. I grow small.
I am brought to the end
of a line of fellow flagellants. In one scene,
we are chain-breathing confetti-strewn
air flowing around buildings. In another,
we crawl through a tunnel where damp
wind takes us back to rusting sculpture gardens.