Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Ant Hill

I pulled the weed that held the hill of ants--
it was a common blade of grass.

Unplugged, they all erupted and
I raised the green, un-rooted sword, and gasped!

They bit me on the ankles,
and danced across my limbs.

I brushed them off with both my hands. They fell,
split open on their hill
like soldiers dying on the field
or filaments of plums dropped in the sand

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