Clay

Four wood blocks collect

and for the life of them

the chains do not fall,

They create their own prisons

and they look onward

to worms,

for all of them

are underground–

The minds are their cells

and their hearts

are waiting for corn to rot

into liquid,

farmers barely notice them

Except me–

My life has a view,

we all wait for roads

and buildings to disappear

“Can you hear it?”

The earth people whisper

“Who can save them?”

A faint voice spoke

“They cannot even

save themselves.”

And two blocks of wood

rise beneath the beautiful mud

and centuries fade into dusk,

and dusk fills with weeds

and wild daisies

white ones

Oh, blackberries

then a mockingbird

finds the worms

feasting for food

and he will dance like mold,

No one can hear their whispers

Not one can see their crimes

Nobody knows

Nobody cares

For a name in the ground

is just a name in the ground

or so

today said about yesterday.

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