The last trance hit
like a drop of liquid lysergic
and then flaked away. But not before
the pollinators dropped,
dead flowers at their feet like
a black wedding.
Wishing upon a fallen star,
blessings of the light bringer
nowhere. Nothing but angry
mouths tearing sense and logic,
swallowing, gulping, killing as
Consumption has taken down the furry legs,
the velum wings, the whistles
and chirrups, the growls and grunts,
the grain, the grain,
Barleycorn will not rise again.