The Quilt of Malaise

Pounds of humping field in
Green and gold quilts,
Wet and tangy mildew pricks,  you
damp in grays.

A fire,
A cloud of black,
Effect of the two passages
Where its flesh connects.

Its red eye,
blazes in a dirt pitch,
Dug into a gut where
Thatch, evergreen, and the smell of vanilla lay,
Say
Who to burn for.

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