Song of a Word-Farmer


Before, the memories of past sadnesses
were strangely comforting
blue sky,( white clouds)
were demons in my eyes
my mind found secret gladiators
fighting to the death under the wallpaper
my metal fingertips drank blood
misery left wrinkled furrows in my face,
like stagnant water
my fretful soul choked away my life
like steel tentacles
the stratosphere was built of screeches
that wore away at my paper-thin shell of patience
Then Webster sang me a dulcet elision
a mellifluous halcyon lullaby
ow and cold as water from heaven
Poetry tattooed my soul-temple
painting misty luminescence like firefly tails.
Now I am a farmer,
planting life in dead Earth
setting words in even rows
Linguistic Photosynthesis

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