in a maze
of maize
the stalks grown
in irregular patterns
into monstrosities
with stinging leaves
that cut
the supple flesh
of childhood aspirations
in dead end paths
wisps of silk
on the humid air
as frantic breathing
the rows

4 thoughts on “maize

    1. been playing with minimalism lately. i find that when in the throes of a story the poetry is just snatches of scenes. I fear I have lost the ability to write long form poetry. thought the music one for you is still singing in my head.

      Liked by 1 person

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