The seven mile bridge rises,
unnecesarily high, water out to Havana
on one side, Biloxi on the other.
The road is four cars wide.
Jersey barriers at the edge
(the slighest touch would tip them).
A heart is a ferris wheel that’s seizing
at the very top.
No way down. No way out.
Above, the paranoid sky
below, bipolar sea,
waiting in its sleek green
hide to catch you
and falling is inevitable.
Dust of spinning wheels
makes coral the clouds,
the bridge is
a white crumbling arc
hanging. Broken
columns sink in submarine clay.
Mind crashes and tumbles.
Someone says
Don’t close your eyes.
Hands clamped to the wheel,
wait to come down in Marathon.
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