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