The circle lies unbroken, and the lord is by and by.
So many things here are by and by. Weighted excuse for anything;
farms like rising heaps of dough, scent of manure thick as lust,
cut by skunk, blackness, the toy-like glint of machines.
The breadbasket rolls over on its sweaty side, a giant drooling dog.
It’s hard to believe anyone lives here. The rivers cross one another like
dancers, then dueling partners. Important men go straight through.
Legends leave their names and beginnings; some trembling
as to a heady bible, with earthworms for congregants.
Cut and bleed. Cut and bleed. It makes no matter, by and by.
By and by, you will die. There’s some ice-cream before you sleep.
The stars ready beneath the hopping grass,
the moon covering us all.