BULLDOZING EVERYTHING ELSE
Eyes run over the pasture like cows; bulls running
amok with possibility. The horse fence is leaning,
still nicely-painted, but leaning. Outside this big
perimeter, the two Fordson tractors still idle.
It is morning in the light of another day.
-
I am forty three miles away from any city : in
whichever direction my eyes go there is space
and silence. Nothing to aggrieve: the tenement rows
are gone, and all those noisy people. Those hawking
their filigrees are forgotten and lost. Only a cape of
green is over the Earth-lady's broad land, like love.
-
Let me put this squarely : I am living many lives
at once. I am the wandering swordsman, I am
Don Quixote, I am Hannibal and I am Laurence
Sterne. All this these all wrapped in one, they
make me what I am, together.
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