The Buffalo and the Tornado

Going with the ghosts now
CGI eye on the hillside
No casual close up
No one wizened face
Fished out, focused, flattened
Only landscape
No lonely landscape
Here are hordes hording
Fleetest on four feet
At least pound for pound
Gathered cloud of dark brown
Seismic murmuration of meat
Before came our kind
To twist their tune
To the TV dinner channel

Cannot talk time here
Could whisper “million years”
Just as dumb as aforementioned
Joe the Reality Show Buffalo

Instead: conjure with cranium
Something ancient beyond stale
Dial up the scale
See calves’ first shivers
Then swimming on a sea-swell
of granite and grass
as the ages pass.
The dying as dandruff
Slough on the scalp
Shuffling off unsung.
Here herds are hewn by hue,
Rainbow of brown
Shimmering on a screen
Shifting white to yellow-green.

Faster and faster
Buffalo brown blurs black
Then improbably, blue
Shifts red to violet-white
Radiant rivulets like traffic light
Seismic song swinging
to a high pitched keen
Amplitudes decapitated
By our low draw meat-made
History playback machine.
Phosphorescent fur
Furrowing our screen
Then drifting even higher
Beyond the hear and see
Into some superluminal
Supersonic divinity.

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