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.