Now I hear shit
in the grass, one minute
Glides
by on my cells
And two and
three as bluejay nests seize up
The
park like thatched wet
Gobs of sleep
along some soma’s clownish
Rim.
Some tweets meanwhile
Drill white
gems to the hymn of several skies.
The internet is
Succulent with
flies, and so I ribbon
Earth with honeyed traps
That she might
also sleep to strumming wings,
The little badger.
A toss of
plastic pearls swing from a girl’s
Ears like balls, thwhuck thwhick
Thwhuck, air’s
thick stomach chockablock with bells.
Some kids slumber in
The asphodels,
and as I hear them with
A light, the humble
Bees drop
pollen on their pink-slapped faces
Then flock into the
Pixilated
screen of hives their empire longs
To sing them back to
To spill
through hexagons of hurt. Worms write
Documents in dirt.
