In hether hem groves, a purpose
means locking out trembling
hands, readings grown like Hemlock.
Morning in fashions fitting of Green
perfume, that like grass or hay,
or the telling scent of dead leafs.

The cough of the soil here
is contagious, as is an itch
left by a million starving bugs.
can't remember if we're supposed to hate eachother but yea anyway this is nice and also i Love the myrmidon one you did with the sphere. enough so that a while after i read it i got the urge to read it again and nothing else would scratch the itch & so i went to the trouble of finding it; that's the sign of a great writer i believe