Lonely, naked, in the corn fields,
a stranger to this new awakening,
stitching upon new found flesh,
upon the recently perished dead.
A bloody vessel cannot sail,
and the pull-ness from the tide,
and the fields whip the wind gale,
and this leaves the shape open blind
the blind-ness sees with open shut eyes
spinning sweet, saliva,
to our child-hood waifa
innocence turns to antics,
bronze bleeding...
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