Joliet

"Joliet," she says, "is the darkest part of a man"

It's angry and slick

Into her letters writes

through herself each time

she thinks of him

Trips her way down south

into mystery's mouth

and he follows her there

It's what she doesn't say

that makes you want to stay

and try to comfort her

I talked to the cousins of people who knew you

I asked them the questions they expected to hear

Like maybe a killing went down in your town

Maybe it's the prison

or the birth of barbed wire

"Joliet," she says, "is the darkest part of a man"

It's shaped like liberty's bell

cracked and common law

and stretched out over its flaws

like an ink-less well

The hanging judge in town

records her comments down

she saves the crowd the truth -

and deals with it herself

Fills that hollow well

with nothing left to prove

I talked to mountains and streams that pushed through there

I talked to the trees that had no fruit to bear

to the colorless people that sat there

beneath her

curled up, stared

I talked to the cousins of people who knew you

I asked them the questions they expected to hear

Like maybe a killing went down in your town

Maybe it's the prison

or the birth of barbed wire

Joliet