The swarthy sward bites hard in the crucible
of sound pounded softly to those insensible,
inflexible pieces of ground locked in concert
with rising raking voices, of shed tears inert.
Silver flows the mercury of time in our times
with so unfashionably new nursery rhymes.
Sublime remains the passion of an acidic fruit
left untended on every greengrocers barrow
twisting like helter-skelter by a sinful arrow
with a burning turning kernel in every root.
Photo credit: Malek Montag, 2016
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