Axons and Dendrites

In the sky, a pepper shade of light burns brightest

Millions of jet black eyes blinking over the buttocks of Nebraska

They are an iris-shaped cell that won’t let you live without being alive

Hope for warm bodies



In the nerve spans a tunnel, three 1971 humans

Omaha, Lyon, Omaha, Lyon

They hover, they are helicopters that shave the shale-like atrophy off a jack-hammer heart



Up on the ridge, an upended Hemingway-like Himalaya

A cardiac crest that trusts and coils, swirls

Over car alarms, stray dogs, plastic bags, implosions, and cold bodies 

Hope for cold bodies