Remember that time I pissed in the soda machine?

All the pretty failures
laid to rest--
it's thanksgiving in
the war night for the turkey
in the desert-- horizon seeker--
mining the fields day and
night "if only some rain would come"--
wipes sweat from brow--
in the projection farmland,
a singular shape of overalls
and old slouch hat--"then
we could eat and eat good"
--or they'd grow--the stalks--
long and tall and frighteningly
beautiful--like we're told to
imagine war is--the crooked righteous
cause for saints and martyrs
and kissing booth fools--
all the pretty failures
rising up to meet us--
toothless eyeless howling
grinning starving scratching
mass grave digging hysteria--
all the pretty failures
stretching back infinitum out
to entropy--engulfing the history of earth space
pure godly intimate loving barbaric bucolic civilized
smelling of death's hands--

all the pretty failures buried underfoot
waiting to grow.