Pasture

Foetal bones crack their surfaces back
twist baby faces baby bodies smiling like girls
into gaping shapes of misapprehension
which seat themselves beside clocks
their handles tangled in vein after vein
ticking to the awesome refrain of the awful game
and fingernails on a child form last
so there is no chance that they will free themselves
crowds gather and smother them
but black won't arrive
red strings sucked from sticky pink surfaces
keep coming and coming wrapping around hands
which shake and sputter jagged mutterings spread
like immune deficiency and they all drop down
before the babies
before the sunshine
before the rabbits rush back to warrens at dusk
to avoid saliva vultures loving their hind legs
countryside is pretty when you don't know the time.