Too many pitchforks
Not enough greens—
The earth has enough
Fingers growing out
Of the lapis dirt—know
What I mean, Roger?
Not that I asked for chips,
Or cornstalks, or seeds.
I wanted roller skates.
I wanted the boxy tractors
To pull my shoes off
And guzzle the air.
My brother touching his side
With the one kidney left.
The fog falls on me
Like a leather recliner
On a cat toy batted there.