The yeomanry of the open
Spaces they may subside
Or be usurped then what
Will be what will possess
What once possessed us
Be become so great devourers
Be become so great men
They will pass into another
Ditch not us not another
Night and so deeply enjoy
What we cannot own
Be become so great devourers
Be become so great men.
Not a forest in sight
We should call a forest
A euphemism for being
And property what has
Discovered me that
I am composed
Of waste lands and
What may not be en-
closed the toxins
That one breathes
The media we can’t see.
Your bruise blood
Martyrs the human-animal
There is no our here yet
No we shit except when we hear
What red dominates
And what black
Dominates what blue comes out
To children
Comes home to children
One weeps because their
Bodies were the case
One cries because mediation
Becomes a muddle.
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