And the farm endured
seven fields to forty acres
the days of my father
saw grass and crops rotate
his toiling obsession now spent
gave way to a bigger scale

the old house storeyed
by one and a half
the bedroom where I slept
in the shadow of an older brother

the roof of grey slate
the peak of my world
reached my childhood sky

the overgrown garden
the consequence of labours elsewhere
the sycamore tree
my view of a world outside
the patch of monkshood remained
where I trapped bees in a jar
the fuchsia bush with flowers to pick
and **** nectar from within

the old dirt track road
the start of a jouney far beyond
the realm of a farm
and the dreams of a boy

I first saw the wheat in the morning,
smelled the wind blustering forth--
Wondered that it must taste like
that very morning, in what complex way crops do.

And when the bear-locusts eat them,
what they would say
if they bled pans of gold to romance their amber,
if only then
would they be jubilant
if only on their death beds!

"Don't admire the fields," says Agricoltore.
Why?
"Because they like--they don't change."

The lizards crawl
on the walls,
and the crow caws,
like the cow
that bows
to the crowed
the queen being crowned
cry’s out
to the plight
and the fight
for the knight
continues on
till the break of dawn
don’t stop,
don’t ponder,
continue to wander
through the fields
nothing yields
the words that you feel
so carry on
till the break of dawn.

The days are long and arduous,
the drawn out afternoons
smoldering slowly in the expansive heat,
as the sweet taste of breathy breezes
sweep laboriously across the sky,
sinking deeply into the rich brown earth.
The sweat-soaked fields
sway wearily in the extravagant heat;
the golden grains glinting in the graceful rays
of the warm, mellow sunlight.
The trring-trring of bicycles ring all around,
the flashing metal brilliant in the noon day light.
Rivers sparkle,
teeming with life so overjoyed
at the return of better days,
better ways.
Dawn gives way to dusk,
the precious light fading at the corners now,
wiping the clouds down
with deep plums,
and dark blues,
until only night is left.
The star wink and shimmer,
casting silvery light onto solemn rooftops,
shrouding and holding their slumbering contents
in a Mid-summer's night dream.
As the season draws to its close-
its fading glory resplendent
in all the wonders of such a comforting season,
the world breaths in-
quietly content
to put the day
to rest.

when i think of you
i feel life trapped.
when i think of you
i feel one hundred years of melancholy
lusting after the sun,
but being unable to look upwards
at it
because of how easily and effortlessly
it can burn a hole through the dark
that has become home.

when i think of you
the single time we met
i feel forgotten fields
the color of mint,
a body of love idling
left to rot,
lilies thrown in the dirt
because your hands have forgotten how to hold them,
the first page of a novel scanned
and then discarded,
like the obituary of an old friend
you could have called back
(but didn't).

but see, that's all just silly
because, truthfully, i know nothing (about you)
aside from your name;
aside from the ocean being too deep and wide and blue
to find comfort
or peace from the earth,
though the earth will not move
because she herself holds many fearless, crazed oceans
within her
that have yet to be named.

but the hole in my lungs is draining
my air into the the sky, plugging
it with all this nicotine is utterly
useless. i do it often enough
to know. bleeding eyes
stare at your face, or
what i can see of it
on the screen, I
guess. will you
come for me?

take that it any way you prefer.
( i meant it in every way possible)

replay the music
i can't fall, not without a soundtrack
hands sting from skinless remarks
shuffling sideways to avoid
blatant attraction
words spilled from the side of
a half-closed mouth
that never fully closes

I would bleed for you if you asked me to
i would rather you kept me from losing everything.
we could be sheep in the fields forever
sunlight and waving golden faces, old rain
on the trees slipping down to remind the dry hands

lay with me in the grass, but don't get wet
we can do that later