The wry scientist feels heroics are unnecessary.
She shirks the convoluted equations and heads
for the atomic heart. The
suddenly upon me, like the yellow-green skies of severe weather
the opposite of transcendental
that gray, rust-streaked boxcar ―inscrutable graffiti tags― rattling empty through town
what joy for a dusty brown heart beating among the cornrows? the body knows its own songs, hears the rhythm of its own slapstick