Have you walked a sweetcorn field in June
When Georgia's skies are bluer than blue
The music of waist high plants stirred
in the breath of the Gulf
Gatherings of wild turkey , raucous crows
and flocks of mourning doves
Follow songbirds of all shape and size along
the woodland edge
Traipse dirt roads to the Indian Creek ledge* ...

remember those days when you
had to shout it from the rooftops,
or use spray paint, or car in river;
hard to, when now we type it up
on the walls of our social media
each one, vying in digital swirl
each thought, each feeling, sent
out to dry in a momentary heat,
then move on, unfulfilled, to the
next tab, the next flickering page

Surrendering the blood...

Drawn by dull,
rusty syringes.

Manipulated by
villainous fingers.

Promised elixir
but
peddled drugs.