Benoit Pioulard Tie
Flee to the fields, it's a locust year Leas & melt-water to defy the seer A rosary around the wrists The rope descends with tenderness Oh they've got a file on me The Venn pall of anxiety Sticks across fences make a raucous sound The call of the abyss, foxglove's on the ground Flee to the fields, take your calmative First to arrive, always the last to leave O the rapture of the plain, an intimation of mortality A halcyon sketch of persistent unease hanging from the Magnolia tree
