I’m sinking under a sea of regrets. Steady
gentle rain on my windshield,
in my throat.
I’m choking on a soaking cotton field.
All the expectations leapt up like
a herd of deer bounding through
green paradise, then the rains came
and everything turned flat and brown.
Disembodied antlers came through my windshield.
Hooves all over the road.
Deer guts hanging from the trees in place of leaves.
How does life do this over and over?
Brings birdsong sun through your windows to wake you
and then they all come down with leprosy.
Birds’ heads are falling off, Harry!
Might this be easier if I was a chicken
in the six, seven minutes after decapitation?
Just a torso scrambling around the yard.
Waiting without waiting
for the inevitable end.
A thud in the grass.
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