Shepherd

Creased skirt as sharp as knowing
laid down on the edge in ignorance
broken femur skyward;

wipe my blade over oiled wool.

Phalanxes of sword and shield
buzz-saw across flesh
drowsy thoughts under olives and stars.

Fix or redolence, Monte Carlo (or bust)
these Bayesian eyes will remember long after
the gunmen are gone and farmers are left
to sell their land to developers.

Strung across global wires,
a swarm of generals and boffins in
chatrooms push rocketry forward

Now I breed pigs for a hobby.
They carry their weight of professional
to the abattoir. The food chain mourns tonight.
Her lips shine scarlet, his face some lavender.