Thursday, July 9, 2009


Show me the worm 
caught in a bird's beak
or the squirrel still twitching 
in the middle of the road 
while bloody tires 
revolve someone home -

I will show you the worm 
deep at work in the dirt
of a long abandoned farm
turning in continuance
of softening, cultivating
a soldier of the earth oblivious
to anything remotely human

or that the farm is empty, run -
down to nothing but old boards
license plates still nailed onto 
onto an old garage.   And you wonder
what the purpose is, why the farm
once stood proud - windows 
gleaming with fresh eyes

full with the thrill of reflection
green fields wet with dawn

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