After Breughel – The Lovers


gritting teeth in the pit
preparing to shovel dirt as if its a vocation

just wait for fingers that
tremble on your neck

the way the wind sleeks your hair
the marbles in your throat

the man who wouldnt recognize his own daughter
could hardly be expected to know who you are

her breasts amongst the stones
which complicates the shovelling

her breasts amongst the stones
the shadow of the old man falling into the trench
& out again

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