Along line where words follow
one by one each distanced and obscure
like items of trash along highway
stuck in weeds between ditch
and fence lift shifting cars passing
sailing into wind of logic
or like grocery carts out of line
and place scattered about full
of claptrap and flapdoodle
unexpected foundation
for absurding suburban
where shopping rigs
get garaged for night
like pigs asleep in makeshift
huts with conquistadors
while in city in loose
deduce gathered around
poles trees once lived
covered in plastic people
under new moon of normal
dining al fresco in fresh
air of improvised jail
things will never be same
way things have always been.
The Coming of the Toads 