two millets scamper in a field and i lie in between things.
i am soil. i am grass. i am air. i am feet. do not ask me how many.
i know all these people, they tell me tick tock tick tock.
they turn to eachother and say tick tock tick tock.
in between them i lay down and pat my sleeping bag.
i dream my love into smithereens--
wake up an unoriginal thought and no new words.
is this life now the old life has died? i would ask frank o'hara and his love,
but how cruel to expect an answer.
how cruel, even, to answer.
the cuckoo bird never asks the time.
the cuckoo bird never shows up late.
the cuckoo bird isn't even a bird.
i am soil. i am grass. i am air. i am feet.
do not ask me. have many, how many, or how.