Crosses for Crops

Shake off the mud
you wallowing boar
and nail yourself
in a frame without shame
for the peasants to feed
with their beady eyes once more.

It come with a shiver
to address the reasons
to even produce
a loose grasp on a stare
where the hair on your neck
is a pay cheque for coats
that clothe the oars
when not used for whores.

The moon is up
in your clever sky
and try and try to remember
the time you were so strong
to gain a spot in a lovers arms.

Now brother why bother
to sit with the men
who build boats to sail
for fish and drink
again and again just to sleep
when you could be cloaked
on a stage telling truth.

You see you have to believe
that sweat comes in rhymes
and time and wine
are no place in truth
when you can reap a crop
in an instant sober
far greater than corn
which is thrown out.

The droughts come
and you’ll crave it
just knowing that something
can save your mind
from seeing the blind
face walls to be shot
for saying that something
was how it should be not once more.


Author: leeethomas

Visual Artist, musician and writer from Australia. Interested in Love and the Mind.

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