Meadow

Forever they sit staring
down doors
flying down them,
sliding around through notches
in wood
which cracks back and opens onto
the outside.
Perpetual landscape freezes jelly
eyeballs, creating cracks.
Fields lounge out beyond
and hedges surround and bend down
to take in the dark electric twitches of night,
the harsh high pitched brush
of branches
against skin.
And I can see the sky is empty now
and our eyes are thin.
Epidermis whispers soft nothings to the cold
and it does not reply.
Tiny hairs stand erect reaching out,
tiny men stand and salute the wet
grass,
covering itself in insects.
They lie in it. Slime comes inside
and the silence reverberates.
The glutton, darkness, fats itself
with human.
Our breath is caught on barbed wire
which sheep will later wake to find and digest,
the metal pricks scraping at their teeth.
Dark answers meet echoes at last-
a mental breakdown of wet leaves,
skimmed stones,
broken branches,
mud ditches,
white flints,
empty, empty, empty, empty, empty,
bars.
Which I once swung from
loom, now, creating vulgar words,
hiding murderers
and rapists.
Hills lose their summits,
ditches their hollows,
trees their outlines
and the pull of the warmth distracts.
The black hangs, is hanged,
and wants life.
It sucks at the horizons which are so close now
they may enter nostrils.
All is close, stroking,
and anxious.