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there are horsemen on horseback with sabres flying through infants on mother’s breast:

this year’s drought killed every ear o corn;
killed every calf, and every lamb before first-shorn

men wheel on horseback
no matter the mothers
those dry heedless aviators spinning spears
the hooves their pistons
their parchment skin stretched over struts

for days, nights those dessicate breasts exhaled only dust
none of us knew what hid in veins so collapsed and forgotten

until now it were the drought
but that is all over, all forgotten, all forgiven
for nought we all know
would grow
without blood for water
whence the wisdom commend unto those splitly-shod
the wisdom to command a hooting cavalry into the breech?

in the years to follow
we found women with mulberries on rare land teemed in succulents

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