Notice to Monument Men (The Men):
Leave your burdens here
in this spruce-marked graveyard
within steam-cloud reach
of the nuclear cooling towers
that carve parabolic profiles
in concrete,
fifty stories high
into the thick Illinois air
above a corn field,
a gun range,
and a motocross course
between German Church and Razorville roads.
The downriver towns will notice your leavings.
Notice to Monument Men (The Monuments):
I notice you don’t move much.
I notice you don’t have much to say.
I notice that you just stay put and anchor lichen.
You bleed sand from your sandstone.
You form the topcoat of an inverse-highway
where people are laid lowest,
dirt and worms are in the middle,
and the robins traffic
from obelisk to headstone.
— mgh
MonkeyMoonMachine 