Stomping Days

After the rain

Falls after snapping

Turtles who hibernate in the

Ether, after our

Regurgitated rhythms

Walk through the skulls of every school-

Aged girl who looks for a good time in high heels

Run through the Fields and the Woods and

Damn the Ground

Saying:

“Agriculture is not God, nor are

Forests turned to

TImber nor

Evergreen trees crossed through with

Rusting 

Wire nor

Aquamarine crayons melted down and

Run across our Hair and Fingernails, Bodies

Dragged through 

Sand is not God

And you with 

Five-dollar bills between 

Toenails and permutations of 

Elicit images are mutations of

Red

Wood

And I am the 

Real thing I do not burn so

Dare me to

See if I won’t”

After the world goes down,

Feeling fingertips

Tangled with 

Electric lines and

Radio Signals,

Wombat and Rabbit make 

A new

Rambit which makes

Drugs for the 

Sellers

After the world goes down,

Fire upon the

Tangles of hair, burning,

Everyone is

Run to the cellars,

Wistfully recalling their stomping days.

Alligator boots with

Reticent smiles and

Dogged glances will

See us down