this dairy taste of grieving is creeping in me
I am rotten milk at dawn sweeping
over hillsides some signal ghosting up a fetch
ancestors perhaps but O the stench in the back
of the many throats of goats and pasteurisation
itself reason enough to see clear into tomorrow
in iced packages I have no longer a bovine heritage
he sat next to me all day his big teeth his eyes
lk hr i no everthng h sez lk such a streak of meds
falling about him we caper there together
until the driver demands we get off the roof
get back inside for there are people in the hills
such behaviour has already compromised us slick
we are unlikely to make it now past the next rise
he seems meaningless though and we pine into & up
up a lost dreamflick of sunlight through speeding trees
but that red stench coming on we will have to settle
somewhere where there is at least water or the dust of it
something anyway to flush out the crawlers
already are clung to the windows licks at our eyes
.
.
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