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farmer's yield

What do you seek

In such dark, tight petals.

A knot that begs to be undone.

You cannot resist the tight bud.

Plump lump, black-lipped and pouting.


It is deceptive; a death crepe.

One has passed: here we mourn.

Her death stench floods the heart

Burns the eyes. I sense it before you.


It takes hold of our bloom,

Choked by her taproot

My soft-scented jasmine

No match for such vines

That creep, cling and choke.


How you marvel at her blacks

Roll the dark hard seed

On wet tongue; spit it out:

Plant another.


How they reap

Our rich soil

Our garden robbed

Of such fertility, now fallow.

The flock dog is lost.


Someone is done for.

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