Death not present on the long road today.
Big human wagons, should be on their sides
in swamped cattle pastures with streaks of green fear.
Skating to stay neatly in line with a world
that bears the treated compounds of armor
and carves me, slices me with night and blue signs.
Dullness of elephants spanking pink clouds
with ropy tails, honking at me: “Get out of line!”
I sink in the yard of wagons, awaiting the violet crash.