Remains of the Ground

Shapes of rings signed in the sunlight

moved across the old motifs and molds.

In the furrows, followed in a fallen frieze

shreds of scars on shapeless skulls.


Upon the dry grass

where the soft ash twisted,

he surveyed the homebrewed slogans,

his eyes like tenured trees,

akin to truncheoned targets.

An ancient scrawl etched in the east,

And Along its forlorn fringes

a blueprint for assembly.

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