and this continues 

until the collection gains such weight 

that there is no such thing as a chance of rain.

the impending wastecloud unbuckles its belt,

drops its trousers, and lets fall a drift of interpretation

as the anthills no longer feel themselves to be pyramids,

and the worms surface to feed the birds without secondthought,

and the fear of what comes next 

disturbs the backspace bulimia.