Or the orchids of the day

Nobility tales of quickened indifference,
singing to the last farmhouse
Accompanied by stereophonic mornings
like August shelters

And large March hindrances
following the lonely blue tit home, awash
In the nosily empty peripheral sought lining
scores and stole-wart trumpets

Next Thursday they will drown
in grocery pills and sat on cattle irons
Like robust indecision tempered
just to your own long festered allowance

Picking down proposals like dolphin fin
happenings again at your footstep
Where no merry weightless songstress divides the time,
or the orchids of the day