Callous and Callow; Moons Aplenty

A cosmic height, six-too-tall-trees,

shrews and goats, toxic reapers,

shells of carapace, truthful beans,

at once, in a free moment, clouds

so big, no more, I shout, no more;

 

wreaths lain flat, berries and leaf,

I call a farmer from a lone hay bale,

cornfields in a row, glib milk cows,

chicken feet, woe to creation’s hue,

a blue sky above a gray prairie;

 

for dinner, we fast and drink wine,

sit on a porch, smelly creek water,

laughing at dogs, a practice lost,

simple is contagious, lost on youth,

we’ll weave new sheets, watch;

 

for fear of no fire, you laugh and

I hold your hair when you puke,

like the first day we left, the saw

blade warped and toothed, we

call to the city lights, blighted;

 

as farmers of muse, we sing a song

trusted and pure, mincemeat and

curdled cream, a crow landed on

my hat as I stood alone, I am not

a scarecrow, you taught my smile.

 

For more, check out my chapbooks on Amazon!

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~ by Shawn M. Young on October 13, 2016.

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