Wednesday, March 25, 2015

the dry land

the farmer prays for rain.
down on his denim knees.
his hands crumbled
in one another, the callouses
going soft.
it's a selfish prayer
involving money
and what he needs,
but so what, what's the point
of god, if you
can't beg and plead
when the farm is dry
and barren.

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