An experiment of cut-up poetry.
There is blood, there is pain
pain of one body, ache of many bodies.
Moraga, Orinda, Pleasant Hill, Walnut Creek
creek of blood everywhere
everywhere you go, everywhere you see.
Four blocks from my refuge
refuge of my rhubarb
rhubarb from organic farm
organic farm of two acres, two acre of veggie.
I always forget, Forget that it is the deer season.