is a freedom farmer’s best friend;
it is a steel tractor
that hums like
a singular chorus of
The farmer’s fields were littered
So blades plowed through the crops,
severing chains and superstitions,
a smooth hair cut
that made one feel
the natural breeze
The farmer turned the tractor’s key
to shut off its engine.
It didn’t stop.
It kept plowing.
It crossed the mind’s boundaries,
scything and scything,
till it reached the farmer’s
and when it leveled the people,
one by one,
heads fell on the ground,
blood fertilized the corn.
the farmer asked his good intentions
But he never got a response.
There is no centre
is a freedom farmer’s best friend.
A nightmare machine.