Catch and Release (for Carl Kaucher)

when I worked in a diaper factory
we would leave out hearts
hanging by the time clock
as we picked up our earplugs
sometimes after twelve hours
we’d forget it was still hanging there

standing in an abandoned factory
dandelions coming up
in seeds and yellows
through cracks in the pavement
I think about nightly nosebleeds
I think about machines
the sermons of humans
lost in the perfection of mass production

automation means there is no need
for this place, automation means
there is no need for us
still our hearts haunt
with time-clock ghosts

these streets vibrant once
in the afternoon rain
mourning mountain shadows
burned-out neon
the great american novel
is pages of for rent signs

this bar is a pill coated in wood paneling
ancient cigarette smoke
breathing out of the walls
a five-dollar old fashioned
heavily poured
burns all the way down
around here we don’t have past lives
around here all that’s left is decay

I ease into my second
quiet in the call of backless barstools
the light on my phone blinks
brings me back from
the noise of the line
the plastic bag stretched over metal
the velocity of diapers
catch and release
the smells of plastic-seared closed
cotton in the 3 a.m. air
is it a snow globe or a blizzard?