it's work like this

[rayheinrich]

Mussolini loved Kipling! But white supremacy doesn't make me want to
write poetry so much as take up arms against invading armies. (The
U.S. in this case.) As a merchant-marine engineer my 'uncle' George
loved Kipling's "McAndrew's Hymn". As a technical person myself,
i do too.
------------------
i hadn't written anything for years when, in a tiny little book store
in Falmouth Massachusetts, i stepped on this book that had fallen
on the floor. i picked it up, read this poem, and have been happily
writing ever since. (It was really the whole book that did it:
"The Water Inside the Water". Best poem book ever.)


Once, Driving West of Billings, Montana
By Susan Mitchell

I ran into the afterlife.
No fluffy white clouds. Not even stars. Only sky
dark as the inside of a movie theater
at three in the afternoon and getting bigger all the time,
expanding at terrific speed
over the car which was disappearing,
flattening out empty
as the fields on either side.

It was impossible to think
under that rain louder than engines.
I turned off the radio to listen, let my head
fill up until every bone
was vibrating—sky.

Twice, trees of lightning
broke out of the asphalt. I could smell
the highway burning. Long after, saw blue smoke twirling
behind the eyeballs, lariats
doing fancy rope tricks, jerking silver
dollars out of the air, along with billiard cues, ninepins.

I was starting to feel I could drive forever
when suddenly one of those trees was right in front of me.
Of course, I hit it—
branches shooting stars down the windshield,
poor car shaking like a dazed cow.
I thought this time for sure I was dead
so whatever was on the other side had to be eternity.

Saw sky enormous as nowhere. Kept on driving.