In a field at dusk, this strange fiddler
crawling over vegetable leaf-ears
speaks broken southern prophecies.
I observe him, an air-born blossom,
and he flickers wings of fire.
He seeks greasy flesh for green jowls.
Belly-full, this long-necked, bulb-eyed
ninja punctuates found wall and perch.
When alone, he giraffes into you.
When the glowing boat-man arrives,
his oars tickle through the river. You offer
the bullion that falls from your eyes.
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