gather harvest


 rain to earth
 hard labour harvests
 first fruits for winter


 I’ll lick out her fruit
 juices while you, her husband,
 pissed, oblivious


 the last deep mine closed
 Thatcher’s harvest complete
 community dies


 blacksmith’s wife cuckolds,
 if it’s you, your grain will burn,
 pray for a cool head


 uncut grain holds earth
 in secret counsel, as seas
 do not hold sea floor


 scythe interrupts grain’s
 conversation with its earth,
 ears no longer hear


 ruin oversees cornfields
 must be placated with fires
 in field, hearth and head

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