a wind in the mouth
of a grinning field
rolling around the
old man's lips, smoke
spiraling down draws
teeth have already
chewed the crust
so that other smaller
teeth may chew
another baked crust
no crust be made
though if those grays
and whites won't
let loose the reigns
and roll out the dough
dough of the wiggles
that nibble the crust
making sure crusted
hands' work don't go
bust later in the dust
that wind rolls round
on chewed up crust
a field steaming in
mornings full of
wishing, wanting, lust
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