wounds for harvest.

words inspired from events transpired.
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where rhythm is lost
to recycled air
arteries choke
and purple

a harder squeeze
gleans the harvest
every drop
is wrung

all it was
more than it could be
now it is
less than it should be

into a jar
best sealed tight
dull the noise
a slowing beat

when all life is drained
and it feels no more
it’s ready for the test
back in the chest.