i am bad at waiting, but bend to the practice;
my teeth ache
like gnawing on rope.
at the edge of the pasture they are building a casino
the america first, designed to suck hope from the marrow of money.
i bury my face in fragrant soil, some ancient cow, the wily architects think, if they think of me at all.
listen. once upon a time
words attached to solid bone untwisted,
much less set on fire.
the ground shakes. the stampede approaches to circle up,
our number legion, our jaws set to grind this monstrosity to dust.