Harvester

A man farms men A great sickle sword Harvests bodies bales limbs Binds one upon the other upon the other Battle a great threshing Arms wheeling a combine And low there the bodies fall Clanking of armor and bloody leather Burbling cries and last long moans Eyes raised and then roll back Amidst the fleshy division of muscle The crushing halt into bone The sucking pull of the wound Being released by the blade The grunt the roar the barbarous bawling That... Read More