Northern Veins

Greyhound bus headed east, failed mission
a winter landscape scrolls by, the emptiness,
the blank stare of the badlands;
a dark night rumbling over tracks,
the complaint of brakes,
a Hitchcock truck stop for beef jerky
and a rambling pause, some inarticulate passage.
A dank greyness, clouds following
like the sheriff after a bank robber,
conversation with a landless native – tribe forgotten.
Those were shamanic questions without answers –
where are you going, where have you been?
The start of a long three days along
the veins and arteries of a great northern landscape.

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