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by irene o'garden


who is that

laboring so hard


steam rising

from the sweating

flanks and is that


blood and feathers

twisted underneath

the shoulder bindings


mangled mane

chest rubbed raw

hitched hard even


under the genitals

salt sweat some sad

clock of work



over the soil

unsweetened for seeds


until a wind


clanks buckles down

long lungs fill

stiff wings de-cordion


one circle cheek tips

up, one gold eye

remembers sky

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