A Rumination On Where To Fit

the city is a moon I think an irrelevant moon I suppose
I try to remember though I have never been the city
is a place where the dirt and the sky smell of man steel glass
and I will not go there no not even if I am dead bad moon
bad bad bad moon hovering above my tatty head no room for pink nose licking long tongue wrapping the grass lapping the cud no room for the horns I wear in the shape of
a question in the shape of gnarly branches I suppose I try
to remember the forest by growing two effigies of it
from my skull my curly-wurly burden I thought
these appendages into life my screwed extensions
heavy heavy twisted spires oh tooth and neck oh coat
of golden rust the city is a poisonous dream where
does a cow fit between skyscrapers trees bark roots rock
mountain river where do I put my abundance of stomachs
my split infinitive feet oh sweet water sweet sweet water
is it you or is it leaves the colour blue or the colour green