Steam escapes from tears

the dream of the sleep punk

those guitar solos based on choruses

lull me to lullaby absence

my participation on the edge 

of the plantation of easy guilt

trying to keep safe in the attacking air

dry in the angered rainfall

as water percolates from the eaves

roads that meander through the forest

and around its scraped-out mines

its quarried foreheaded depressions

also leak and leach generously 

they’ve left a few trees standing 

in the meadow to remind us of trees

the mirage of a cared-for landscape

the deception of orderly lifestyles 

the ludicrousness of plans at times like these