REAPER

Out from beneath the red eye of some whirlwind’s squall
Of (yes) dandelions and ballerinas,
I found myself, yet again,
Cracked bright by that religious instant

If not needled out of the sunlight’s squint–spit quite
Beyond the semblance
Of a pink trailer park, and into the pro-
Longed scatter

Of North Carolina’s holy beige countryside
Wherein both the crows
And panther-spotted cows bathed
In the scent of either silence or paralysis,

Gazing up at some packrats living it up
In the few tall rain clds making for the sky’s
screen saver as I grazed past the dark side
Of distance, waiting for the return of Mr. Thoth.