A milk udder lure between her thigh
though her chanty where bin nigh
as day her ungulate would stack
their jugs full in this wooden shack
while shop worn gloves did amount
a shine must replete but always count
only first total inside their raw clement.

Barefoot on a cattle's back
Old as dust, painting it's children
with powdery track
the dry grass its den
the bear of the fields
does it step forward
do I step back?
from the cattle's back
titter totter tat
                covered in dust
*Thwack

blah blah blah
insert deep thought
Blah blah blah
love blah blah
insert a pair of rhyming words *
Blah blah *sobsforasmallpenis
BLAH

It's early,
And yet I see the faint glimmer of the future,
It's undulating just over the horizon like a sea cow;
Adorable and ignorant.
A heavy beast, capable of violence,
And in need of protection.
I hope I have the strength.

grey and worn
the lawn chair has dead leaves stuck to it
its one bent arm an expression of pained indifference
mud clings to its feet
and a single vine like a thin snake
wraps its way across its frame seeking the sun
i pull at it to set the chair right
to seat myself
and **** at the breeze from the open field
marvel that a cow stands not five feet away
silently watching my every move with a wary eye
lunching on the grass and ****
but the chair now uprooted from its long held position
seems more than ever a proclamation
of mans intent to be seated here on heavens lawn
clear illustration of the intent that you are supposed to
take this bent greasy seat
sit at your leasuire
in the bountiful sunshine
it is one of a dozen in the field
in this beautiful slice of heaven

the lawn chairs
litter the field like broken teeth
set in a line that wanders across the wilderness growth
each having suffered from years standing in the open field
two almost completely consumed by bushes
one had been tossed into the tree
where time had swallowed it into the bark
this broken and brutalized fence of chairs
these lawn chairs of heaven's field
sit in this beautiful place some would say eyesore
i say artwork of life's randomness...
what party of fools once sat here
dressed no doubt for the occasion
perhaps celebrating
perhaps mourning
then got up from these plastic seats
and left them behind as testament
to that forgotten day...
so i sit in heavens lawn chair
a mute salutation to my unknown compatriots
who painted this pastoral scene
of plastic in a field

Johnny remembers the barn
He kissed his first cow in
It burned down two years ago

Johnny holds his head low
Pointing towards the floor
Pointing towards the door

He drinks homemade grape juice
And thinks about how odd
It is that we crush small things

And drink their blood

Johnny does not want to be crushed
He does not like the sinking feeling
He gets when he thinks about

The grey silo that still stands
By the dark patch of grass
That won't grow back again

He wishes the clock would stop
Talking at such a steady volume
Johnny has trouble sleeping

Ever since the barn burned down

The Gentle Cow she gives us milk
Her skin is smooth and soft as silk
She walks about the field all day
about what she thinks I cannot say perhaps she thinks it is not right
That every morning and every night
She gives us milk and never get paid for what she gives us twice a day