i'm the mower in my dreams,
killing for a living
almost by accident--
grimly scything swaths of grain
cutting paths to a paycheck,
animal friends bleeding in my wake with
eyes rolling gently to
the humility of death's embrace.
we feel sorry and move on. all
as merciless
as the
rotation of the globe on its random axis--
smiling softly
with a tightening grip.
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