Five Plastics in a Fife

Freak the breaking sheepdom,
Five plastics in a fife spread all over kingdom come,
Laxative to infinity, a burst of speed,
So hard to seed the galaxy.

Lead the immoral river onward to the dust,
Wetting and rewetting like the last lakes of out the trees of life,
Letting the last shakers soar with the vermin over the
Spreading caves of coral under the sea,
Leaking the separate sprays of swag and kilter to Shetland and back.

They do not come up over the tops of water.
They stay down below,
Muddying swaths of felt and tar and
Poison in their broken beaks,
Licking the wounds of their endless relatives
Until the end of time.

Foreshadow the blistering heat that has crept under the earth,
All billowy and crepe-papery in the dust of the morning sun,
Lashed to the farthest sails of the most drifted-about ships this side of
Ending, of
Anchor, of
Place.
The wind,
Ballast to the morning’s prayers,
Frees the sky to fire.