At Which Point, We Lose
This leveling, the scythe with its projecting
the frontier of grain recedes,
the future behind us (who’s been left hungry?)
Also, the animals. Their
for surnames: sea mouse, sea
parrot, sea hare.
The disappearance of the secretary bird (seismic
surveys, the lightning branch
of thought), witness 1,000,000 eggs
for every shipworm. I
say again, the sheepshank
was premature, however
long and knotted, ditto the shuffleboard.
and stone chimes – I don't wonder
their tongues, their
synthetic division, it is
not as if rock reveals its dialect light
at surface tension.
This is the future of stacked straw:
tailorbirds stitching swastikas.
This is the lesson of Thermopylae:
songbirds and terza rima.
Forget the Thirty Tyrants and
Thomas the Rhymer. This terraformed
question, the flat diction
A plague of thrips
in the roses,
our hands bright with blood.