where does it stop
in pregnant fields
tractors with high beams
gobble up grain in the dark
turning golden ground into
piles of dirt
cereal-mobiles rumble
on gravel roads carved
through ever-swollen hills
fueled by ethanol and
kicking up dirt
rolling stock races
for the eastern seaboard
destined for distant lands
where little bluebirds
play in dirt
november two thousand thirteen
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