cattle swelling
Sep 8, 2018 · 1 min read

beyond the hills
there’s
cattle swelling,
hooves beating a nightmare-samba
and flies running about, washing everything with their germs:
they send out
fetid signals
now
to slip between the rotting pillars of the day
and become nothing
but
detritus
after the things we loved,
simply
swallowed up
by a beautiful and
disinterested sky
so empty
and so blue, so
cruelly
blue
and unchanging,
when all anyone wants is a
few drops
for a few weeks —
just the supposed promise
inherent to winter
but instead it’s mere ‘prayers for rain’
coming in from the capital,
slinking into the kitchen
on dry
wi-fi signals
like a bloody curse
like the creak of straining rope.
