Harvesting thoughts
With a scythe and sickle,
Burying the furrows
Like a paradox popsicle.
The literary farmer
Sows fertile periphrasis
Lamenting fraught seedlings
Twisting taffy off the pages.
While carmine dust-devils
Stir desert air,
Cochineal insects
Sip prickly pear.
Gather and dry
then pulverize
into bitter sweet colors
of pomegranate dyes.
