Seems....
I'm always leaving
farms,
barns,
silos,
and rusty farm implements,
buried in tall grass,
chicory,
field bindweed, and poison ivy.
Forbidden places to a child:
Rotten rafters in barn caverns,
quicksand silage,
tetanus iron teeth.
Crops cry out their memories:
brazen wheat, bronze weapons in copper fields,
pink laced with pesticides,
Winter tears/tares
give green hope
on sullen days in Febraury.
Milo wrapped in sandburs
on a wooden trailer
pulled by the dust blue Ford pickup;
a triceratops of a tractor ....
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