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Locked land
is still water-
drawn. Bridges
are the army
corps' craft
work here,
of similar
disposition
to the men
riveting them.
Build to a sea
level given
from survey
after survey.
To demarcate
goes horizon
far. The lines
at times appear
after mowing.
And from mid-
bridge. Merge
west. The sun
confronts all
arrivals. Flanks
of coal-burning
engines gargoyle
at the entrance.
Monumenting
the effort to blur
through this.
How fast cattle.
Standing laws
keep casinos
to the other
side, so Iowa
gets to glitter.
Tractor trailers
void stomachs
upon stockyards.
Mile one is true
and humorless.
And as silent as
can be, divide by
barrier neighbor-
hoods bullied in-
to the interstate.
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