There is a broken land where mountain ranges rise like angry tidal waves in turbulent, slow-motion seas, senselessly wrestling in convection.
Occasionally, countless battalions of clouds march briskly left to right without leaving a drop of water, all saved for a brutal assault in a faraway war.
Broken people–adapt or die–that is all that can be said.
Broken animals and plants living in arrhythmic symbiosis.
and above; thrown into the wind, birds fly incorrectly and confused
then tumble from the sky in mid-breath.
tiny fish in the broken river’s warm water quietly dance an intricately choreographed ballet.
Trees are not trees, . . .
and the rabbit is not in charge as he would have you believe.
Bragging coyotes arrogantly squawk after a kill