KELIN LOE
I Guess It’s Too Late to Live on the Farm
There is anger like fire and anger like stone. There is a point. There is point where the crop drops off into the river. There are cousins in canoes. There is a point where stone becomes soil. There is a point where stone becomes. There is a point of becoming stone. There is a point when anger becomes stone. There are mosquitos. There are cousins sliding down the forest wall into the river. Anger in flames is a stasis. There is a point when it’s too late to stay that way. There are cousins in the cornfields at twilight. There is a point when you walk with the history of stone. There is a point when you are a flaming wet rock in a cornfield.