Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Zywa Jan 2019
Every morning after the reveille
we hold a bicycle race
from the camp to the Meuse

At full speed I take
the last turn, right into
brand new barbed wire

invisible in the light of the sun
As proficient torturers two others
are colliding with me immediately

Flat tire, torn clothes
In a comic strip, I would now
be hanging horizontally

But I fall, rips in my flesh
gaping and bleeding
Bandages at breakfast

and then I lead my patrol again, what else
after the mysterious providence
of a farmer who's going to pasture on the river?
Collection "Bruises"
Two asphalt patched lanes through
the plains bounce our transportation
like bunnies toward the lay of some lake
we wanna survey for fishin'~ just two
tumbleweeds reclaiming time, so we are
flying down the road and barely blink
at the rust bucket gas pump pit-stop  
hole in the road with 45 acre
land lots for sale on all sides as we
drive as dry as deadwood past
one car every 30 pastures
We left the 3 bladed Mercedes wind
generators Ginsu-ing wind
into sashimi current and a random
"Fireplace Restoration Specialist"
sign forgotten as fennel-****  
never knowing what might be over
the grain bin hill-crests next but, all in all
it was a spectacular day of espionage

Written by Sara Fielder © Sept 2016

— The End —