Sometimes
when I’m drinking
people turn into blades
of grass.
My mind becomes the breeze
between their blades,
slender shadows
that I move through and cross
without a smile
because it feels good
not to smile.
In the distance
one of them grows human
and tries to cut the others down.
He isn’t one of nature.
He is death,
the mower
trying to perfect
life.
A cow stoops
to chew the fields
and I pat its head
because that truly is
nature
with four bellies
full.
At night
clouds eat the moon.
I forgive them
when the rain wets my head
and tears drip into my eyes.
The elephants know
the benefit of mud.
I know
the benefit of nothing
at all
simply because
there is something
at all.
Rusty Truck 