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Moonlit Hedge

A panic attack happens on a Tuesday night 

The last trance hit 

like a drop of liquid lysergic 

and then flaked away. But not before

the pollinators dropped,

dead flowers at their feet like 

a black wedding.

Wishing upon a fallen star, 

blessings of the light bringer 

nowhere. Nothing but angry 

mouths tearing sense and logic, 

swallowing, gulping, killing as

they die. 

Consumption has taken down the furry legs, 

the velum wings, the whistles

and chirrups, the growls and grunts, 

the grain, the grain, 

Barleycorn will not rise again.

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