Land Mower
a growler is running
clouds are being mown down
then replanted inside wind-scapes
Popping seeds
crunch together
spill their fill into the air
a word on the lip of imagination
is chopped out of existence
ears ring
with dead bird songs
a silent space of myself
flaps away
i would rather be
a bat orbiting the moon
than here and now
the grass under my feet is cut
a grave undercroft of being
turns over and over
a restless mind has long searched
for my house
but the house is cut down
and landscaped to pieces
i need an enemy to love
or a love to hate
nothing less will do
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