almost titled

 

theres a place beyond poetry underneath the bed, and i know these fields. the voices in the attic and the voices in the sink are closer than ever, longer than todays sunset hours ago, but i know these fields. theres a symbol for my pain, some reasons why i cannot move further than ahead, faster than the sorrow but i know these fields. theres a mormon in a little funny trunk theres a human right beside him the trunk flies across the tiny rivulet and lands with a thud, like a solemn piece of thrown up food, and i know these fields. theres a blood wound and a mortal sheath and together they try to be complete, they turn around and they mix into a coquelicot ribbon with a bow and I know these fields. theres just one runner and they're all trying to catch up before they shut up and die and you'd hope the runner goes first but lifes a dicey little game, and I know these fields. the walls of jericho they fell into rubble and it took lesser time than the falling and forever they stayed and I know these fields. i cannot stop and start and stop i cannot just go on, i am a little rodeo clown with big painted hands, many hidden tears and one long sip of forget me not today, and i know these fields.