Breast Fed

Cover me in cyan rivers
Open the hidden laughter
I am the naked blue thorns
The victims of rude steel
The cries of proletarian skies
All these prayers have armies
They march

Great stones fall on love
Hail and fire
Silver rain
She holds my hand
Your man believes in justice
Now the wind is crying
Your heart holds the wounded

Ambrosia icicles
Canticles of fiery ghosts
Riding steeds of immigrant dreams
Our love is tumultuous Steinbeck
Dust and exploitation
Ancient battle lines
I am a violent man

Let your breast feed the workers

poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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