Commuting in the Information Age
the bird in this poem? She’s nesting
in the commas.
Language is a virtual reality helmet
that skims, parses, and bookmarks.
Only a CAT scan can reveal
storm clouds in the brain.
The engine makes birthing noises. Try not to
take the exit for Zion’s View, where
even the slush pile has a slush pile.
Poetry cannot rehabilitate the shameless philosophy
of the West.
What do horses and beer have in common?
This is not a joke. John Wayne now wears
a hoop earring at a Chinese buffet.
Crossing the Susquehanna the fog is a sugar glaze.
Traffic arrows point me in opposite directions, signaling
the same thing. Somewhere,
unseen hands smear raccoon guts on asphalt, plunge
road signs for last year’s elections in the earth.
There is a pattern here: the roadkill and the litter, police
sirens, the Confederate flag, the roadkill…
So about this poem you’re reading, there’s
something I need to confess: you should have stopped
at the word “pastoral”.
Anthony Santulli is a New Jersey born writer with a B.A. in Creative Writing and Italian from Susquehanna University. His recent work has appeared in minor literature[s], the tiny journal, Juste Milieu Lit Review, Bartleby Snopes, and Literary Orphans.