out to pasture

out to pasture

the weary blackened souls crisscross across the terrace
careful to avoid the shadowed remnants adorning the field,
they hold onto satchels, sacks of soot and tired raingear
hoping for one more taste of their atmospheres sweet juice,
tonguetied and stuckout they scoot, born in this meadow
they've meandered on earth in humble malfunction

"anne?" a soothsayer with bandaged eyes emits
"Did someone call Ruth? I'm just over here!" but for her,
she cannot hear and no one is wiser for a reply,
as aloof a calm boarish gent in overalls bent
cupped up the trampled clover, resurrected its 4th leaf,
and with this gesture, a bluebird could be seen on horizon

it gathered up the updraft, and then hurled out of sight
to fly an unknown path around market scouring for invertebrates,
it knew not when to perch or when to decry its attempts as for not
a wounded buzzard become it kept blistering on
and the old women gathered and knit this feather fallen
engrossed it within their tapestries not knowing its bloodlet endeavor

Long this pitch of broken changelings stretched
the harpsichord, a grammaphone, a bored out mortar
lone bent collumn of grooves
indented the path of a little lost maiden traipsing her clogs
in every trip, she sensed a small bliss of a tune
tried humming it outloud and went mute

for not, as old wicker basket salsemen propped on tangled root
orated solemly his predictions of future harvest,
gathered forth a small crowd of pitchfork and rye
a stung redflesh muddied in blotches, perked up
believed from his these stories of blessing days
where one would reap a lore of ones kindred hand firm

terra formed and all along these high vaunted planes
an odifourous incense fumigated the air
it was deep within lungs, singed their skeletal organs
it brought them all together in hapless pleasure
the borders of which were becoming encroached
and not but one of these misformed creatures

ever desired
to move forward from the said dowry of attempt,
and a lame boy riding unshod painthorse latched on to crumpled page
and read forth this poem

these barren mothers
these broken backs
we share together
in our small of laughter
in our chipped tooth grin
to keep in favor

our warm hands
clasped in crippled finger
we will not release
please, oh father
delight us again on sunset
show us once more your love

bring us our storks of fortune
on the coo, this listful breeze
for we are meek and dying
breathing in ribbed asunder
oh joy, oh love, oh fortune
send us your favor

bring love again, bring warmth

he stopped and dismounted
prostrated himself wet earth
to sorry to see the merry ants
who continued to build their castles
and he wept their trails away
a cursed bonded lament