this shape I've become shining scythe to future a rancid harvest ungathered, un-gatherable and yet you sow a promise of rotten seed and yet you sow shuffling feet through bones of lovers past rows of wheat painted white crushed calcium and yet you sow scarecrow smiles the warning reaper's sympathy written in mixed blood and dirt and yet you sow sweet lies moisten cracked lips whetting stone to sonorous crag but all ears turn toward desire Yes! wind as sower and siren and blame the fates on our false folly ...and yet we sow, we sewn sowers whistling to our doom