Some Day the Cornfields Will Burn

The distant light of the horizon wavers like breath.
My home is too many miles away for me to drive
in one night.  I will need to sleep off the moonshine
we stole from your grandfather's washroom. 

It was a mistake staying behind to get tattoos, needles
frighten me more than ghosts.  Will you come with me
as far as Walker, or will you slip beneath the earth
looking at me with those pale blue eyes? 

When I get cold there are never enough blankets
to hide beneath, and I never know where my feet are
supposed to go.  Your body always seems so graceful,
contrary to the burning fires of your mind.  

Justin Evans teaches in rural Nevada, where he lives with his wife and sons.  He is the author of four chapbooks of poetry and four full length collections of poems.  A fifth book, All the Brilliant Ideas I’ve Ever Had, is forthcoming from Foothills Publishing.