Come with me into those things that have felt this despair for so long—

Those removed Chevrolet wheels that howl with a terrible loneliness,

Lying on their backs in the cindery dirt, like men drunk and naked,

Staggering off down a hill to drown at last in a pond;

Shredded inner tubes abandoned on the shoulders of thruways,

Black and collapsed souls, who tried and burst

And were left behind,

And those curled steel shavings scattered about on oily benches,

Sometimes still warm, gritty when we hold them,

Who have given up, and blame everything on the government,

And those roads in South Dakota that feel around in the darkness …