Everything Is Fed

Snaking through grasses in the hot sun
Oak meat wheat concoction
Acorn bread rising in the oven
Three pounds gone
Three pounds gone

Sulfur powder sleeping in the action
Waiting for a message from the captain
It's not me, cope with the abstraction
Extinction
Extinction

The springtime sun collides with lingering snow
It melts it into crimson red disguised as indigo
The ever present fingers tickle my skin
Remembering times before the preachers died right therein

I prepare some hourly meal beyond my own consent
And everything is fed



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