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The Farmer lifted the last sickle and carried it sluggishly over his shoulder as his clothing shuffled and rubbed against the leather strap pushing into his abdomen.
The Sweat had stained, his head had adjusted to the moisture.

So he laid sweetly.
While crying deeply.
Hot headed he piled grains of sand neatly.

Holding contemptuous thoughts spoke to a idle mind and fidgeting hands.
Fidgeting fingers.
Fidgeting, Stuttering, Sticking, Flickering, lights to a candled to a flame

he began to slumber, leaving armored sundered
While in the seas of his conscious does he sail the high seas and plunder
Shooting blunderbusses and burning brigs and frigates


Looting and letting a beetle climb twine
The beetles carapace blazed brightly in the sun.
It Glimmers in the brightly in the sun.

Like the same boundless sea and expands in the mind of the farmer
Yet this beetle crawls and stays true to it’s feet
Sensing around looking for the sweet soda left on the farmer frown


The beetle climbed between the farmers lips and left a sweet treat
The same kind that the pirates of his mind finds neat
Big black beetle blood, that definitive attributed to the decline of the farmers beating heart which caused a blood clot that would onldisappearte when the body of the farmer from laying out in the sun finally rots.





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