Gene Barry

They cycle the farmyard

the ready to fly crows
above hollowing out
bunkers of the dead

while he recycles

cows vegetables sheep fruits
digs holes for traffic lights
becomes a life detective

from over the barrier

their memories get speeding fines
his broken head inking out
dead bodies decorating

and she barricaded

inside the curtained window
her harvested thoughts
gowned in his misery

the music of
useless half moons
holed buckets
the unadopted
dead animals