The Eradication of Popups
Damn the green valley,
the poppies in bloom,
their mad-cow dances
on the black-grazed fields,
the dancers too; & too,
you are there in nothing
but your loose feet
and perfect perfume
standing on the last rung,
a ladder rising from the haze
and lofted into the shroom
of cloud-curdled capers,
smoked on a hot green griddle
popping open in surprise.
