there are no jumping cows.

no fields where trees
grow upside down.

they sprout from dead leaves

rising to meet the tired old moon
as it hangs
from an indifferent sky.

it melts away
like rain on snow

for the tiger tooth chaffinch
to make its home
among gnarled ebony
and shattered bones.

and even though I'm
wicked as sin
with a view
to excess vagaries

they tell me
I should pray to god
I'm not sure what for.