I can feel the dry dirt tracks
between my toes and under
my bare feet.
Cars have been here,
when the mud was wet.
Footprints, paw prints,
they show me ghosts of lazy
sunday afternoons
and bicycle tracks,
perhaps, I could
track them back.

So, this dry field under my
feet is ugly
with it's yellowing grass that
stretches endlessly.
The day is dark
and the field is dead.

Strange, I feel it should be blooming.

Lost, the grass is lifeless,
dry and dull
it would be so simple and
satisfying to spark up a
wildfire.
Overwhelming, hot and all consuming.
Over before you feel a thing.

And ****, this field is flippin' hopeless.
I want to set it on fire
               see it burn
               see it die
Just to see something.

I want to stand in the glare of it's death and welcome the coming beauty.

We had temporary tea parties on this field
placed mats and rugs over the yellow grass
so for a while, at least, I forgot it was there.
Now the plastic cups have toppled and the tea *** has blown away.

Maybe, baby, I'm in love with the sadness.
Maybe, I'm in love with the field.
Maybe, I want to stand there and watch it burn
forever
because I don't think
standing with my face in the sunlight will ever match up to the burning dance of the flames licking my face.

Kiss me on the forehead, kiss me on the cheek.

Would you take off your shoes and dance barefoot with me in this field of death?
Hold my hand, let's run, until there's nothing left.
Set the poppies alight and let me swallow them whole,
away we go, away we go...