Harvests and Wheatfield

Sunday, January 15th 2017 – 2:22 pm

“Harvests”

Favors need
buy love
only time

Plant seed
nor toil
foreign grime

Pray rain
wash hates
arid clime

Ice grind
tires whine
boneless chime

crop lost
souls dust
spreading lime

 

“Wheatfield”

Brush my fingers through the bony stalks
to time your hips, day and night

Your laughter, my comfort siren call
of your Love makes Might makes Right

Home and hope, illusion starved walks
tear us like only love’s bite

He stabbed asunder our rise and fall
with our rusty Bowie knife

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