---out again, maybe? #4---

ah the thunder finally cracks your dream
a sheet of water between me and the tree
I am thirsty the grass is thirsty the bike
is parked under a peeling shelter
elements are moved more real on this bike
magic bike of my Father's death
we're visceral in the open
no more solitude for anyone here
it is the ant's
rescue slogan while the rain now
slating sideways like the weekend was, in tiny
multi lensed eyes I am now an ant and that
is who you may be
are in this poem the last ant
just one
maybe two
following the hill the wasp hive too
squirming in nostrils beckoning the winter
to come
come on you, mothger er.. th...
MOTHER DEATH!
no more bad dreams for them
yes they must do dreams it appears
here in burned letters like 3-D movie
NO\W MORE MOVIES--DREAMS FOR THE ANTS
no more retreating (was I in a parallel empathetic
place yesterday?) there is work
to do before WINTER
turn the key and they teeny chant
no more grasping, no longing, no
eyes, no ears, no nose, (big surprise there
never was) no no orgasm, no Queen,
no nots,
no ghosts no failure because no success
the hill will drown you and you will survive
as progeny
no pride though
no sucking
up