golf course

how do you spit the factory green?
i take a ride into an alternative natural
where no one knows 
the names of flowers.
instead, we go plastic 
as far as plastic will go. name a boy
after ourselves. cover all our tattoos
& pretend our skin is blameless.
in the forest once there was 
a god. he let the woodpecker
drill a hole in his head to spill nectar.
this is where we have nothing left to drink 
but our own horseshoes. 
wearing the right kind of clothing.
white & pressed. 
the right kind of face. 
white & pressed. 
a mirror with antelope legs.
do you go carnivorous 
in the open? tell me, is there
anything left of the wild? we all point
to a little tree with a choke collar.
it barks, pleading for jupiter to answer.
good boy. by which i mean 
terrible terrible boy. there is a conference 
coming to my despair. money 
to be made off the slope 
of my favorite hill. dig a hole
& spend the rest of time searching again
for that fissure. i put the golf ball
in my mouth. wait for you
to pull it out with your
leather gloved fingers.