a literary journal published by the Black Earth Institute dedicated to re-forging the links between art and spirit, earth and society
under oaks and buckeyes
a folly. A hundred of us released.
The skylarks chose death. We squatted
where red-bellied birds had feathered
rained jet on corn-gold territories.
Our patois desire for survival
undreamed our filthy constellations
too much looking glass. Our bodies
poised at tipping point perceived threat.
We didn’t ask for this continent.