I am the fatted calf; let the bellering begin
as I go down to the trampled water grounds
wearing this season’s seeds and burrs.
I strut a grazing gaze across the landscape
that carries within it the seeds of deconstruction.
but you know, while cars can carry them
everywhere, ain’t no beggars ticks on me.
news from a small town 45, November 2011
wearing this season’s seeds and burrs.
I strut a grazing gaze across the landscape
that carries within it the seeds of deconstruction.
but you know, while cars can carry them
everywhere, ain’t no beggars ticks on me.
