Thursday, 26 July 2018

dreams and nightmares - no. 113


the cornfield dawn



the air burnt hot rows of corn
bleeding through the crevasse
there was no rain
no air
no sound

the cloud hung still
a humid brooding mass
bruised
and purple streaked
to the ground

in which tiny scurrying insects
danced
among the weeds
and
scorched grass

this was the cornfield dawn




















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