fred’s farm

yes this is a field of gunmetal glinting like weather
an entire ecology of dead thistles mapping a drought
barbs pain dull remembering poisons of beestings &
the skull-eye fits perfectly a climbing stick found hill-
side. let’s take a photo here of the air’s texture looking
down into damwater figure out some key property of
atomic nature the push of things against another. let
no one say that sheep can’t really move if encouraged
when it’s a distance issue the soundlessness is affecting
as a cinematic device. this dog resembles more closely a
seal than say a different dog & really the same is else-
where too. owls pocket into roofy line-drawings I’m
imagining that everything is a sketch or a story told
hundreds of times at the dinner table. (months ago
on saying I was interested in oral histories I was made
to feel oversexed and dead-keen on performing fellatio.)
rhubarb is a barometer of the times, heirloom parsleys
grow into mad reunions, tomatoes hang on tho pecked
into pumice. predictably all the wool smells of dinner
farmdogs bray fig trees are irrelevant bowsers like delta