Faked Out Brunch

Bomb the peasants with letters,
Engorge bloated emptiness with words

Of caress, soothed dream of alfalfa
Instead of food,

Pomona, the fields lie – paint a sign –
Leapfrogged by persuasions
Catastrophe and hair

Loose sands forming bunkers
And space faces,
Eyelets from the carnage
Of millions of Mongols

Streaming into a room for someone
Else’s
Brunch.