Why are you entitled
to stroke my stomach
like a turtle, upturned
vulnerable to the sun
burning.
i am capable of poetic words
it does not mean i have nothing to say
on my two way radio
flapping sapping the sap out of me
like a dying tree
underneath a capitulating Caucasian dream
flip side me, so i show my shell again
hard edges of desperation
separation from the sea side shore
I'm not sure, obscure witless anger
dice the apple ate i on core
pips displaying
raw
not needed to create the new tilled soil
grasp the earth
i am done with that
disarm
unarmed
no longer a farmer.
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