Monday, February 1, 2016


ankle-deep in horse merde

I see that template

from which springs

fresh roots and...well you know the deal...

I will wash my feet and stay

alone in my room whose window gives out

on a fading violet twilight

lighting the land in soft waves...

perhaps I shouldn't have been so haughty

but after all all of us are farmers

crops fail crops succeed

while we are at the mercy of everything

but our own abilities...unless you're wise

you'll know better than to try prophecy

Content (c) 2008-2016 Philip Milito.

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