A Field of Heath At Night

A man is sitting like the back of a throat,

his cries silenced by silhouettes

of stalks that stalk one another

in rows that row methodically

in unseen oceans.

Stifly swaying, unnerving

Hand jobs under jackets in movie theatres

Disturbingly funny -

Like watching cartoons in another language.

Try to wade through it

and your legs will be like mine.

Cut and bruised, slightly bleeding

Soreness that causes you to stop in the middle,

your wounds hidden below the heath

stuck like a mutated stalk yourself

addressing me as your fellow captive.

And you'll call and you'll call,

but there's no need to respond.

The moon, meanwhile, sits

like the back of a throat

screaming psalms of reason and purity

that are silenced

by stalks

that stalk.

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