God’s eyes belting a hail, summer being a doormat
suspended, to be beaten, against the wry toned-up hues.
Sheafs of unidentified, of papyrus, detritus, next to dessicated
busts, insignia-heavy.
Both sides of the same, a flip, landed flat on the ground,
unable to make moves, keep digging
Not into purplish yams, sandfrogs, ghost-aquifers, bites
Neanderthal, but ewes [&carcass] and crows heralding
daybreaks.
Sometimes a skink shifting, sometimes a damask dalliance,
a muted rasping of thunder, aglow flare-up flashes behind
blanket-of-clouds [Apollinaire may have mistaken for his
amour]
But mostly an attrition, of boots, naked feet, feeding the soil, branching
Out, thinning out, fibrillated.