My first experience with a Concentrated Animal Feeding Operation.
A densely packed forest.
The bark is fur, the roots, hooves.
The foliage a four stomached mass of flesh.
No room to grow between the trees.
No way to feel the open breeze.
Inside a barn, it's eat, survive.
Anguish is something I don't want to imbibe.
👁 3💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.
Log in to leave a comment.