3.31

this much nature
leads to labor.
the till of wet metal all morning.
dividing rows as neat as a comb through grease.

how come it has become
every plan
a neatly packaged evening.
either tea and whiskey
or a million footraces.
we lost our lists this way.
so plucked over by movement
there was no railing
no hold.
divisions offed us
the dirt became a tangle.