I wander nude over hill and dale, rub calomel on my shanks.
To sixteen bleaters in bashful clusters I salute, give thanks.
Barn gate open, dilapidated shed, top-heavy cloud of grey;
Upright biped trailing glory with pitchfork on display.
Circling fence lines , impatient midday, I wonder on the silence
That chafes my mind with stifled guilt. Love, you’re my reliance
When urges thick as gathered odes to anonymous chicks in fur
Plow my fallowed charms in code, in roses brown, bestirred.
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