plotless

before the moon folded
the sun slid sandward
toward the lake bottom
verdant and wise
forming no bond
covered in feathers and jeans

drifting downstream to the local sandbar
punching up beer and canned coffee
the stirrups were natural

the shelters weren't
the can didn't mind
it came from the graveyard

hadn't been turned over
next to the turnips it fared better
but not for future plugs
tumbleweeds
you plug em, we plant em
makes a nice nursery rhyme
for the decadent inclined

sitting in a cupboard
plugging plots
never mind sing sing
the blahs say
they've whispered up the ghost
down where the cobwebs cogitate
never mind the ghostery
foregone conclusions
the spade is missing
the dirt is dug
the spools are empty
the end remains plotless

denis streeter   1/4/18