Listen to the heard
All with the heads scooning tunes of disarray.
Laying with heads in the fallen piles of fire
Tired from the raking neighbors and
Risen clay
Do you hate your model or the plow?
Coddled by our baby’s bottle solid orange and muddy
Full throttled to the pedal steeling out our blues meal
Hummed in drumming body circles and
Dummy putty
The radio is
Selling everything
Even my Lord
Broken breads and drippings said
Get it now while it lasts
- white -
Walking into my pillow
I found you rounding corners another width
Measured by my trips – judging the scooning tune of disarray.
We together lay our feathers *bedded* in the fallen fires
Sank heavy
Drank drop-like sedimented seeds
Passing fossils and clouds and rootless weeds
42-acre highways of 44,000 trees
a 15-minute field of orange hue
hit bottom on a blank surface
spinaled my head to my heels
where next to me my second vexed was you
her body symbol x
laying acclaim
Listening to the heard.
