Tuesday, November 20, 2012

hard poor corn

all the night beat down like wet corn
black crop circles
saying nothing

even the owls run out
the wind stopped in its tracks
flies dropping from the mouths
of dead bats over the doorway
last sputters of stone sonar coming down
like honeydew, not bouncing
silenced all of it like a beat prisoner tied up
to a chair slumping as the clanging stops
the blooded guys saying shit
he got away this

even the chair bouncing
laughing confetti
through the corn


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