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ACROSS THE FIELD
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
dribbling
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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