grab grain from the trough.
Invention flattens a faded name
how wire pins a hand-hold,
a push on the wind.
The whipped pearl a mother peddles in grass
taunting straw grown taut, our cattle commodity
our prattling in milk rain. We make stay.
Animals themselves are thinly made, caged in
a cagey reign—
food flood, chain graze.
A gray is a gray is a gray.
By any name produce, by any wet peel,
each worm is warm,
and the turn is terrible. In what economy
are made pockets for a rock piece?