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The Heartland


Where would I be
if not for this barren wasteland
called home
called here

with its holy treasures
buried beneath hidden eyes no
map might find

the wind’ll sting your face
as hopeless as Prufrock
you dig

that Midwest sun
holds no heat
has no heart

the blood jells
the breath swells

and ice
the glass floors
of ice make home inhospita

-P.C. Denofrio