Karma Got Me

[A piece of Found Poetry.  Found poetry is basically when you take another piece of work (it can be an essay, a story, whatever) and you take words from it, and while you leave them in the order that they appeared, you can slash out other words and add line breaks and puncutation, and you use that to make something with totally different meaning.  This was taken from a short story about magical cows giving birth and communism in Russia under Stalin or something really weird like that.]

As fate would have it
It was not done with me,
Karma.
The next morning
All of the peasants had
Become impregnated.
Blood,
Fell on the snow.
“Come to me,
Shy and . . .
Humble.”
That winter was born
A generation.
Me the evil power,
To bring life from blood.

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