this pig's grown as fat as my last birthday lip
i ate his brains but he grows still more up and rounder
bigger and growing fat this hollow pig

a well-oiled plan crashed far east last night, we saw
the vibes crawling up through the spines of thin branches
and lightnings striking the air waves where thought stopped
breathing in
none of us die or died but living beasts we are
and able vehicles and actual zombies with
big, orange, organic fires blazing somewhere on a deep horizon
of that which we know
that which cries for us
and that as round we take and starving are stuck buying
from a distance
that cannot refuse us

oh, can't i watch
they beat the ground to a pulp
they call a ceremony to take place of passion
in survivors
oh, can't i but see their end
by late dayglow they plant the means west
toward sunlight
to prepare

for
so cold, night! so deathly
cold, one moon glares morbid
(at harm, no direction
cares to speak).

and as when winds pick up or grass grows
a lingering brown and dry,
i eat and eat and am only more perishable,
living underground of scenes
where electric charged herds run fast from the feasts
through the trees
and the forests moan quietly no escape