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Until the Corn and the Cheddar

Maybe you believe this land is a tamarind rind
                                         or geode hide,
                                 or conundrum stubborn.
Maybe it reminds you of a sleeping old dog, growling
and mean with dreams of glory days and the chase.

These hills and muddy folds of dormant agriculture
                                                                never heard of Persephone.
Even Eden is a piece of gossip since John Deere and Massey Ferguson.
The busy on I-80, chases the suppose to happen and meant to do,
                           away from effigy mounds and thunderbirds.

Maybe you feel inclined to follow January’s repose, even forgive its sloth.
                              And since eagles are the sentinels today, 
let them gather up the few confused bats,
awakened in the mercurial slivers of April before Ground Hog’s Day.

Don’t worry about the details now -
We will meet them again in the corn and the cheddar.

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