Robert McDowell
(December 1997)

Test Pilot

I came here from a Kansas farm

                                                 but now I can't feel it.

The whole world is mosaic,
And God a piece of the iris breaking off.
The sun makes flares

                                                  out of tin roofs
                                                  out of wings

The cockpit is a bell.
I throw back the deadbolt in my head;
I throw it back and sing.

I am so loud two horseshoe players stop.
They know they are like grass the mower bites.

Voices on the radio quarrel like birds
Over the carcass of a silo.

They want me back.
They are full of scratch

                                            but now I can't hear them.

I am so loud      so loud

Look up!

I am like grass.

1997 by Robert McDowell.

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