Holes leak through

Holes leak through an errant day
Drop upon these thoughts of clay
Wetting ashes of imminent fakes
Intentions are mistakes

Pause & pause & pause again
Work is running in a two-foot pen
Writing paper inked to you birds
I'm too tired for words

The poison in the cereal box
Sweet fiber that she feeds the ox
What else can sustain him now
Once an ox, now a cow

The pasture's dry but has a view
The barn is cold, but smells of you
The abattoir is someplace new
Tell me, babe, are we through?

This rotund city turns in fitful sleep
And the springy earth lets out a creak
Squares of incandescence rearranged
Neighbors once, now estranged

I would cry if it made sense
I would run, but there's this fence
I would shout, but I like your ears
Since you are here, there are no tears.