Weed Burner

Cough your way
Through the haze
And blast speakers
Shouting our waves

Away it blaze the fire
Make it burn them

We will fuck you up
No need to stop
Or pause the music
To refuel

Our joints and buds
Are that much more

Machete in hand
Cut down the land
Slash and burn
Dragon in hand

Crops rolled by fingers
In lips they linger

Away it blaze the fire
Make it burn them

Char their bodies the
Warlords controlling
Meadows of good vibes
With rifles and shotguns

Deliver them gold
Drench in napalm
As they fire at you
Burning all the while

Flesh boils
Weed burns

Making the way
Through the fields
Gods of the forge
Men of perdition
Can’t think of a thing
Through this vision
But to keep up the yield
Carry the mission

Away it blaze the fire
Make it burn them

This vibe we wield
So confident
Music steps up
To be so bold

We will fuck you up
No need to stop
Or pause the music
To refuel

Away it blaze the fire
Make it burn them


We planned out harvest
In August
And we knew what we
Were doing

Blue skies
Rich soil
Hills like
Gold foil

Yet this doesn’t feel like home
To us
This endless sunshine and white
Clouds in the ocean blue

We work with what we’ve wrought

When the weather rots
And clouds enrage
At the prospect
Of having not rained

These are the seeds we’ve got
Growing relicous vines and fruit
With a taste that makes cheeks hot
Against an autummnal chill

These seeds that grip and root
Entrench and shoot
Through the dirt
And cobble rocks

We work with what we’ve wrought

Cherry plot ploughshares
Beaten into swords to defend
Our fields from thieves
Looking to steal our bounty

The fields are our quarry
In September it’s us and no worry
Some fruits are for harvest
Ripe already

Skies tint a poppy hue
Days are shorn and more rouge
Seeds sprout everywhere
In bloom the dirt’s deluged

This is our joyous spring
Our warm summer
And our jolly winter
All in this fallish weather

Meadows in infras and yellows
And fierce copper fields
Rife with ripe-wroughts
Shimmering in somber breeze

We work with what we’ve wrought
Into October

When the wind cannot still
And our ploughs
Beaten back again will
Work the ground now colored
Charred and hazel

November and

Swords stand like gargoyles
In the eroding chill
Above a bounty of copper crops
Bearing delicious hot fruit

Our livelihood and sustenance
Brave vermillion
Valiant harvest

No matter what
Come bad crops
Or storms nonstop
Hell or high water



Victories phyrric

Position is calm
Until it isn’t

When bearings fly
By automatic fire

Running through mud
And plastic

With boots and

It’s tense and

With no retreat

Then silence

Muscles relax
And we speedload

What time we have
We can’t be sure

Waiting or

Crouched and

For a footstep
By the opposition


Our gear is

Movement is

Right now it’s

And tense
Covered yet clear

Our position is calm
But it won’t be

That way
For very long

Cider Mill

Cider Mill

Kiwi logs
Flower seeds
Pineapple rings

Chocolate raisins
Blackberry cider
Apple fritter
Vegetable chips

Honey tubes
Hot dogs
Bubble gum

Rock candy
Banana bread
Mincemeat pie

Meat freezer
Turkish delight


Cinnamon rolls
Honey buns



Only vestiges of exposed places
Looking and tracing silhouette
And inspecting from imaginings

Something to focus on
A scarecrow’s
Angles to look at
To frighten scavengers away

Cloth flapping
Calmly and contently
In a chilling
Daytime wind

What is imaged can never
Live up to
Things separated
From surreality

Air force sweeping
Murders above crops
Slithering in the soil
A scary monster

Jaegers never split
With odd birds their pepper
Fought for and found
Above the farm nectar

At least some creatures were
Thinking of its skin
When it isn’t whipping
And torn by void wind

How it stands
The stature
Of a scary

But how it might be
To those who have seen
It closer is unbeknownst
To those far away

Propped up above crops
Beautiful adjustments
In angles to better view
Ascending candles

To everything but

From the center of channels
Its lanes spread from a circle
Where the scarecrow stands
And wraithlike walls are manned

At the behest of
Fitted sweaters
Shin boots
And tight vendettas

One Hundred Feet

One Hundred Feet

One hundred feet to the
Next plain
One hundred feet to the
Next domain

Another field of crops to harvest
One more garden
A flourishing marvel
To take silver scythes to

The season will be bountiful
The weather has been plentiful
We get up early
To wade through the crops

Swinging our tools
And shearing our charge
Picking flowers
And viny fruit towers

Felling trees and sawing boughs
Crackling branches falling down
With thick and thin lines in the trunks
Looking at the legacy of axe blunts

One hundred feet to one great ring
One hundred feet to fantastic things
One hundred feet to needed rainfall
One hundred feet left to post hoc