In a graveyard of dead cars

the twisted metal grows like trees

fed by the fecund springs of oil

and ferrous fertilizer

I wander the alleys between the markers

like grave stones

looking for a name

and see my 51 pontiac

almost whole but rusted

my 64 and 71 chevrolets are

only slightly dissolved

but the cars I have had since then

are gone

their polyester plastic melted into goo.

The iron forest rises and forms shapes

almost like people

and I am like an infectious germ

among the giants.

I look up and see the dark clouds

pour down their acid rain

eating everything

pruning branches of steel

of their shiny leaves.

Pouring down like molten lava

drowning me in deep rivers of rivets and bolts

shook loose from cross beams

But my hand reaches up and

draws down the sun to dissipate

this molten mess to nothing.

I am alone in a desolate landscape

looking for the signs of some pulsating past

which pushes through the solid casing of the earth.

It emerges

and replaces steel with soil

For miles there is nothing.

In the midst of a graveyard

just me

and one flower.