It is delicate and fragile,
This imaginary creation,
We must be gentle with this creature.

We four creators sweat and breathe unconsciously,
We are unified; mesmerized by it.
It is delicate and fragile to hold.

At first it scampered around the room, scattered off the walls,
It nearly slipped from between our cupped fingers.
We must be gentle with our creature.

We have brought it to life, colorful and vivid
Fluid motion and sound, right before our wide eyes.
It is delicate and fragile to hold.

Our fingers clutch it precariously,
One missed beat and could vanish or ******* it,
We must be gentle with our creature.

It is distinctly unique, exclusively different,
It is energy and existence glowing primordially.
It is delicate and fragile to hold,
We must be gentle with our creature.

It rained today,
A thorough soaking
Of the ground
That left the fields
Soggy and spotted
With small ponds.

The fallen leaves,
Orange and yellow
With the autumn,
Had stuck to the earth,
Soaked and weighted down
Around the edges.

Everybody
Wore rain coats and rubber boots,
They carried multi-colored umbrellas.
Squinting in the wind
As the water licked their eyes,
They trudged and suffered
Through it.

They walked over the puddles,
Never looking down at the
Liquid canvasses spluttered
With circling ripples
As the sky’s tears
Kissed their faces.

On the edges of the sidewalks
The water pooled and drained.
Dead leaves lay on the bottoms,
Flickering amber in the gray light.

Nobody took notice
Of the tiny moments
Of perfection.

They taught you to eat corn,
They fed you hormones
And you grew faster
Than you were ever meant to.
Your bones, your muscles, your sinews
Strained under your strange girth,
You collapsed to the ground
Amidst a pile of your own filth.

The others wailed around you,
Mile after mile of confused beasts,
Suffering,
Completely disoriented,
Completely terrified.

You all will feed the world,
The billions waiting
For your mashed and grinded flesh.

And what is your reward?
When finally your bones
Snapped underneath your immense bulk,
The men came
Prodding you with a forklift,
They laughed as you rolled
In the utmost agony,
Bleating for mercy of compassion.

It was not their fault,
They were only doing
What the system demanded
Of them.

They carried you off
And spilled your life blood
Openly onto a dark factory floor,
Hoisted you up,
Stripped you naked
Of your skin,
Tearing at your carcass
And sent you off
To the supermarkets
Where you were welcomed
As a shrink-wrapped addition
To the shelves.

I’d like to start
By saying that I have had
So many great memories
(Mornings of Phish shows,
before skiing, going to college,
high school lunch with friends)
Standing in front of your counter
As I eagerly watch you
Flip my sizzling eggs,
My succulent bacon.

Is there any spirit, Jim,
More jolly than yours?
Any soul more deeply content
To engage in pleasant small talk
With the local old ladies,
To put stickers
On their macaroni salad containers
And smile,
To tell them, “Thanks for shopping here,”
As you wipe your hands
Off on your white apron,
Tied off just beneath your proud belly,
And really mean
Every word?

Jim, you have touched the food
Of many, the lives
Of many.

Your store has survived
Well into the age of the supermart
And still the people come back.
They come back for
Your fresh eggs,
For your incredible meats,
Your perfectly baked goods.

But Jim,
Sometimes,
They come back
For you.

It’s okay to take risks
Here,
This dreaming threshold
Where we wander with the spirits.

You can balance upon
The narrowest ledge,
Cross catwalks
Hanging a hundred feet
Above boiling oceans of
Lava plains.

You can’t
Get hurt
Here

Go ahead,
Stick your
Hand in that strange crevice,
Put your whole arm in,
Feel around,
Discover a new mystery.
You’re safe here.

This place is magic
And you and I can actually tread
On the shimmering patterns.

You’ll know when it’s time to jump,
To leap off the edge,
To careen down to the earth.
You’ll feel it coming,
Feel it building.
We’ll carry you up,
And if you trust us
To hold you up,
If you really believe it,
Then you’ll
Fly.

Eyes hang low
Retreating from the light,
Seeking shelter ‘neath heavy lids.
Machines whir in the back of my mind,
As their users push themselves
Thoughtlessly through their tired routines
Like hamsters on a wheel.
I hear the water dripping,
Almost as slowly as my thoughts,
Into the endless myriad
Of blue and red buckets.

My consciousness drifts away,
And suddenly it is my vehicle,
As I awake walking aimlessly
Through the crowded streets
Of some hot Arab marketplace.
Bearded men in headdresses
Bicker in strange languages
Over bizarre fruit, almost as vibrant
As the decorated sword hilts
Gently resting at their hips.
Past me walk crowds of lavishly clothed,
Brightly jeweled women,
Dressed more strangely and exotically
Then any person I’ve yet to see,
And I avert my own attention
So as not to draw that of others.

A co-worker walks past me,
Looking at me strangely,
And I emerge from the lake of my mind,
Flopping about as if I were a fish out of water.

In class I’m learning all about
How all these great people
Explained the world,
How their models accounted
For the inexplicable magic
That somehow floats around
The earth.

Emerson had these circles,
He saw them in everything.
The Puritans saw God,
Everywhere,
Joy Harjo had horses.

Oh and Clapton played the blues,
And how can I forget
About Phish and their IT?

Me,
I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,
Looking at really hard at fields.
I’m staring at their imperfections,
I’ve been getting down to eye level
With the grass,
Thinking about all of the life,
Right there,
That just grew,
And keeps living,
Just like that.
Those wavering little blades.

I think my meaning of life
Is
You.