The fog plumed through gunshot holes
in the train windows like the blood of our savior who sacrificed yogurt, which is like muscles stretched taut over bones
and the gray honor, walked up the satin plank
as if silk was newly discovered
and if you mine rocks form a quarry,
what you get from a quandary is a migraine
that turns out lights to love
that is to open skies as loathing is to Las Vegas
where canceled checks in the abandoned boat
seemed to answer my destiny where bullets
pierced through the gunshot holes
like the blood of our savior
who never tasted yogurt of sand filled sandals
for our return weighted greater than fog.

--Jason T. McGuire--