By: Leo Lawton
October 28, 2002
Deep dark furrow tipped to the early morning sun.
Frost crystals glistening in startling brilliance.
Tinges of golden clay from earth’s inner depths,
arising in the misty throes of dawn.
Seagulls hover and glide with darting eyes,
searching, screeching, seething, scavenging,
the twisting creatures upturned from their lair
within the bowels of the earth.
Seagulls flow like the rising morning tide.
Follow my behemoth, follow my furrowmaker,
an eternally moving string of pearls, scattered,
in the wake of my ship, in the ever blackening sea.
Gobble quick the writhing worm,
or you shall lose a half,
to your evil twin,
with the lunatic grin,
settling near in the chaff.