Aw man all these tired buddhist ideals and this-is and that-as all
tired eyed worn out sleepy eyed little man doing whatever he wants
as shades and opposites are all really one and the same
born again sleepy-tired same ol waiting for new soul meat to meet and meld
so what is the point anyway if it all comes out in the wash right?
'what do i now next? chop wood?'

Dead eyes take everything in
Cross-stitched,  
Never open,
But nothing escapes its dead view
On the cross it hangs
Movement seen
Mind contemplates,
Gust of wind,
Old tattered clothes
Adorn it body
Silence is its terror,
The corn grows flush year upon year
Crows carcasses
Bones circle this tattered thing
Half buried in mud
Black feathers in the wind
No friend of the sky now perches here
Curiosity,
Playful,
Hide & seek,  
Children find the scarecrow
Open a button,
Hand goes in, a bird nest rests
Fingers indulge,
All that is heard is children's fear
As decomposing fingers hit the earth below
They run,
Breath heavy
Tears fill little eyes,
Darkness invades the landscape
As night falls,
The curious have no hope,
Its boots touch ground, silence is heard
As branches travel in search
Children's screams,
Heard but now to far away,
But there are others here
Burning the crop,
Thought unseen, Music hides
Cries of terror now far into the dark
An echo of what was seen,
Its veins penetrate the fertile earth,
Wheels expel air,
As music hides the terror yet to be seen
Three of fertile Flesh
The earth if giving will feed tonight,
As one goes in to the field of dreams
Where nightmares feed
Nails of thorn rip a silent throat
Only in there minds they scream
Crimson life upon the corn
The ground inhales
Nourishment for life next grown,
The music silences
Only the wind speaks, through the corn
As three
Now two
Where life was snapped broken shards
Litter the ground, a miss stepped foot
Low light not seen,
Impaled,
Upon broken life,
Now lifeless,
Roots do feed as life drains into the earth
Now only one
Alone
Frightened
Fearful
Of what slept within the corn,
No breath felt
As inanimate things don't breath,
A feeling of wetness upon there chest
What behind now feeding,
Fingers of branches Ingest
The scarecrow reinvigorated
No longer thin, gorged on life
As just
Bone
&
Skin
Crumple upon the earth,
And the scraps enveloped
This night, the field & earth feed well
As the crossed stitched mouth
Upon the cross smiles as a
Mouth stitched closed still got its fill...