Geodes of the Western Hemisphere

The earth has feelings some killed others in its mud and it has lots of mud The earth builds a scrapyard, a sequence of them to tell of this, a seam on its embalmed glabella future galaxies caress The earth knows André Breton, compiles ingenuous personalities in its fevered correspondence Out of its winding sheet rolodex the earth erodes another name, your name Beware, the earth prepares to say one final time, construction eclipses It hoped to say nothing further and then was disappointed, its hope misplaced it knew deep down Say more, you say, the earth had hoped you would Express as little as possible with your furniture, find the little that is as near to nothing as can be The monuments unpictured drift up like watermarks through the odor of the lens You make things happen all the time, says the earth, take my advice look the other way