How Hot Does A Cow Get? Black Branded and Unmoving

way too hot
sweltering across the grasslands
passing an endless sea of brown and green
yellow of eddies and patches of black
angus

in the distance are monolithic islands of
solitary trees
and on the horizon is 359° of empty sky
one degree s

its the badlands stiletto’ed

the burning coal vein sent plumes of black
fifty miles back a mile high

I left to feel the touch of my own skin
now gone by not sitting alone

if there were clouds
I’d see your frame
shapes I helped to construct
and as I look at broken fences and rolls of hay
the sun sucks my sweat
swallowed by the earth

plodding along I can’t help feeling
swallowed by you

This entry was posted in A Year In the Ideal, by G. Collins Lankford, Books and Collections and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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