Posted in Misc, Poetry

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the sky has not been the same since it
began to bleed the other night,
the june downpour a strange rust-red glimmering.
the ground was watered with the
diamond scales of the monsoon’s dragon,
once long-necked and graceful, once
benevolent and beautiful, and now
half-mad with a frenzy of storm and drought. and now,
the farmers wear jute-woven necklaces;
they cannot sow with jewels.

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