potters meat field gone

never in the ditch, the ribbon
reveils the mouth and
it
is empty,
i wanted more time, where
is it the
street
the linear path-
the want moderator
the trail wants to talk
now and it does not
it stays near things-
at the beginning of
doors, blue jays echo, the
forest as a jail
the family fails and revolves
again
the pipe is passed the
teenage basement
is replaced by the
clan by
the warfare anodyne the
killed mode of being
these streets
these streets
know what is real it is stones
under foot it is the rubble
ruined in
the wall of church in
the tin hub cap in the peddler pushing
the wound, the steel removed
the god of the street, of the road, of
this multiplicity is gone
the blade rips
the blue sky tears
the language flurries down inches
squalls out
on the vacant lake as
the fisher men die at home
warm in loves permanent bed,...