Left outside the circle
Its flaxing hair jutting through
the rip in its flanks, drawing a rasping lump
of wrinkling, ravenous spawn towards its core

it took a while,
to carry it back and when it was lifted
the intestines tore leaving a spray of maggots
to drench the field

and out in the sun
the earth’s skin caught our own
pulling seams, burning eyes
its release clotting our porous skin

an ache, caused
by the need to be touched
to be held
and torn apart

an itch that oozes through our sweat

as our skin baring fruit
is seeded by the sun, the earth,

the Patterson’s curse
deceptively lovely,

and Thomas
who was blinded by the spores

fell onto a loose wire
that jutted from the rotting fence

burst his eye,

like a masochated grapefruit
struck sharply on its edge

spitting orange fury from
his burning socket

we watched,

hoping,
fortune would favour us too.