signs all over town say "say no to warehouses."
the farms are full of the bones of dead cattle 
who, in the ringing of the melon moon, rise from the dead 
to walk towards a mountain of grain just out of sight.
there is no where to cut off your hands anymore.
wild flowers grow on the side of the highway to gossip.
no mouths to shovel coal into. a roadside stand sells
skulls. fireworks for children. the warehouse
unfolds like a stained glass window. we don't know
what it means to worship the body. maybe we never did.
all of us enter the door & become unvesseled. carry & carry 
& carry a shiny new. this is an education in wanting.

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