Dearth of a salesman

They could not find their way
No one to lead the day
Plastic bags upon their feet and hands
Dusting off their knees while rolling in sands
Of a peristaltic action underneath
Resilience of an out of touch belief

We speak we spin the web
Of spiders in our head
Ants and rabbits walking slowly in the yard
Hand me over to your business, take my card
And flip it through the air like a trout
Doing with it what one does without

Impressions from the end
You never were my friend
Second guessing when the axe would fall
Ankle deep in jelly in the stall
My hooves were cooked and melted it is true
This Raininghorse is turning into glue