Poem 62 Revised

They came by car and coach through hills
To wind up mossy rumor tills
Stare helpless as they—tooth and tale
Scuttled after me,
Well calibrated raw religion
Word murmurs true train trance
Hiccup wheels on rails resounding
—Like a word that you heard in a dream—
Would be-could be-should be
Grow your nonsense thick and leafy
Pack layer layer layer ‘till
No more jealousy just green,
Truth a coal car clatter, perhaps in the grass by the way.