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Nathan Parker

Sugar water erupted from what we thought was an onion blade drenching clumsy black ants in the field- sands drowning orphan and duke alike our horses slanteared blooming foam through their red saddle quilts leaned finally the trees though friendly were without cold mud root- puddle or crude sap the horses putridhoofed kinkfaced and jellobacked stumbled dustily to their flybruised knees and spoke to each other canaan they whispered witcheyed now pupils receding to their boiling skulls canaan they brayed with overgrown ballfields sugarcube landslides carrot juice hurricanes as sworn we the owners suckled them on the last of the Nike waterbottles collapsed with plum ticks junglegyming from our teeming ears and, doodling in the dirt, lifted our heads let pure white sand pour from our mouths and spoke to each other canaan we whispered.

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