“Ain’t gonna work on Maggie’s farm no more”
–Bob Dylan
it is not so much that there is no rain
but structures built to save us from storms
prevent any hope of moisture from making
contact with the dormant seed in the ground
* * *
listen to the conversation we are in
do you hear the words you are saying
dismissive sneers fall freely
from your lips like bits of venom
if we would just do as we are told
you would be so much happier
if the sheep would learn to sheer themselves
it would be so much simpler to skin them
* * *
I walk this path with ease
as others have done before me
the ground bare and worn
from penitents’ shuffling feet
as they made their obsequious
way like cows toward water
winding through huisache
And bramble in ritual
* * *
ravens pick at bits of obscure flesh
hanging from thorns in the briar
a stigmata’s promise to all who attempt
to leave the way that lies before us
* * *
the open field grows fallow
the loam cracked and turned to dust
no rain for several seasons
rats gnaw obliquely on seed corn
a wind musters on the stark horizon
the earth rises to greet the dead sky
(October 2011)
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