Water Follows the Plow

While fire follows the broken moon and the skyfollows the irises spinning like seaside hotelscarefully falling off cliffs only to discoverthey like these new places althoughno wheat grows here. The fields remainso much alkali, terrible here for the finalcloset full of imitations and moths. Trees createrain for lovely peripheral gardens. Hungerfollows the dream; beauty follows murderwhile sleep follows nothing anymore becauseit's all a lie: we look out onhopeful wilderness and findweeds growing from our beds,our heads become feathers and everyoneforgets how to walk, we followhorses to the slaughterhouse, openbooks about survival and knowan end to all safe places.