Wednesday, October 24, 2012

The Field

I will make this mine
I said to my mother of my body
and so I was born.
They will beat me
I said of the other children
and so I was afraid.
I am far from the black city
I thought yesterday
and someone was murdered
and the wave of misery
spread out toward me.

I sit quietly all day
and let the air take my mind
up onto a canvas of smudge clouds
and I await a meager rain.

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