scythes

she reaps me by silent scythes swoosh
   @chest level grain purple Mount Travesty,
she threshes my chaff in winnowing stares
   at groin love's ancient sunk redwood nursery,

she plants abandon with wanton precision;
   at eye height, kites form flight's very manuals,
she sows cumulus rows with furrowed incisions
   brow refuses to grow only annuals.

she perennially barns wind, owl notwithstanding,
   both wanting out at free level shutters;
she boards up egress, haranguing    
   air as a medium, One  feeding lung's flutters.

       She ranches disaster with verve and with flair
       Silage certain in lieu of her cyanide repair
     

12-14-17
mt tabor