from The Unfollowing: 7

To begin with, I am faced with mountains to circumambulate, since I can't cut
         through them
I enter the folds of a human adventure
On every door there hangs a figurehead and this one comes to face me as the
         door swings shut
I will proceed with good will—the best of wills—anxiously
Bird of daughters, bird flying from the forks, the blurbs, the serials, the time
I saw a golden tadpole, eating apple jam; I saw a sudden whirlpool, sucking
         down a ham
The boughs groan with fruit, an apple falls—false alarm
It’s a non-sequitur—that
Sense data sinks
The muscles give out mid-word and a thief stutters while accusing me (his
         uncle) of theft
Lune comes along mounted on a beast called That who is neither more nor less
         than a horse as obedient to Lune as the tides are to the moon
Shot of men hurrying toward each other at an intersection with open umbrellas
         none willing to give way to the others, shot of placid camels kneeling near
         a chained dog, shot of sugar maples temporarily obscured by falling snow
Tomorrow morning, unless things vastly improve, I’ll go in person to the front
         of the caravan and take it over the mountain
I thought I saw an earthworm, stirring in the dirt, then I saw it was a sadist,
         wielding a quirt

Lyn Hejinian, "7" from The Unfollowing.  Copyright © 2016 by Lyn Hejinian.  Reprinted by permission of Omnidawn Publishing.
Source: The Unfollowing (Omnidawn Publishing, 2016)