carts of emotive dust-well springs

without the fiber to the coil
or the brokered ham for delivery chime
pulling springs like Appalachia on dust
singing parting waves like mics on Mercury
craving the small morsels for flavor packets

grieving into a small man’s pocket
there are no designs on this mustering train
where aiming gaskets plead the last man’s curse,
caustic gravity or small blunt property
or petty thought basket hail in the alluvial morning

decrees that pause for saplings
a trial of independent goats
seen leaving the stolen market
hoping purse strings hide marlins
like ashtray calls from the misers of Taurus

concealed inside an ancient army
where loving husbands dig decrees
that pause for saplings,
weathered gauntlets on the heads of pins
that shunt a feather nail
under the protruding scrap home
of the fully smoking, hesitating enclosure