The Flow Revolves around an Axis

it was a nasty piece of work
throwing the spaghetti
against the wall

finding long faces
in smoke rings
and dust devils

the ten thousand
or thousands to come,
death flew by

with a nine-foot wingspan
I wondered if
I had ever not been angry

the horse that I was
all beefed up
irresistibly flatfooting

the ranch dance for as long
as the fiddler’s
willing to play