i.
Douse the burden on your
muddled flanks
It shatters in a bath of
robot sparks, you stutter
out the measure of fuse-blown
transmissions to hack your
way through a field of ghosts-
then write a letter about it:
“Dear Recipient,
fields are a wick burning
fields become the graph
in dives
fields are rising pistol smoke
fields teeth their grain
against the sky
P.S. fields to carpet the dead
beneath the earth.”
