Friday, March 27, 2009

we bow to bovine competence

the lowing now complete,
in the depression of the dew
we are freed of onyx grimace
and the jeweled greed that cuffed,
unexpectedly this,
a sooty halo of clever slavery:

it asked of us a trembling throne
unwanted by sire or throng
and muffled by the why:

resurrected by milky tides,
forced from the warm blue melt
into the green of trembling dawn.

the low again will echo home:
a rescue from the herd of circles
and the smell of trampled grass.

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