From a collection of recent experimentation with newspaper black-out poetry.
Spreading offered human destiny, a desert
Deliberately parched and nearly
Dead. Seed should have practiced
Fingers, empty husks going to feed
The people in spite of drought.
“This is beautiful!” rustled the wind,
A hope for the system that feeds
The vulnerable harvest, flailing.
Driven by increase, the four
Most human horsemen demand
Hunger in scores, amid riots, played
In the latest scientific change.
The failed harvests of consequence,
Of waves, believe those events were human.
Temperatures are rising,
After decades of hungry prices.