Red Mud

Dust filled air. A dog or some dogs barking somewhere. Getting lost in a city pretending to be the country where rural eyes spy sights that have no reason or deeper meaning. After all why stall when hens need feeding? The benevolent buzz of the bees keeps singing with no need of me tending their wings. The cows need hay, the grass under mass hoof remains safe to say at the least. The fence made to contain these vegan behemoths is seemingly the teeniest of weaklings. The juice running through this poor excuse for fortitude will lend a clue to any who question its abilities regarding its profession of protection. It could be noted by one of importance that the cattle has been accounted for stored in, not up neither boxed nor boarded. Home life, farm life, long days dark nights with the stiffest of drinks in hand here to demand euphoria if for a second one second before slumber. They say numbers don't lie but a clock blamming its alarming horn at 3 a.m. begs to suggest otherwise. The rooster keeps his cool until sooner or later like the sun and the moon or the tide that waves at the stoic rock faces some etched in anguish some aware that theyre rocks and all rocks are brainless. The rooster at some definitive point will lose his cool. By then we will have fixed old hoes and other barely used mostly broke dew covered tools. The hens need seed. The vegan behemoths need hay. The grass is being tended to at least for today. thankful. Our horse could divorce this place without a word either way but she stays. Shes at home. Im at home on a farm. Im at home in a drink. Im at home in my sleep. Until the clock lies where I lay as loud as it may. At this hour rather than cower I sustain. At this our I remain unchanged. The hens need seed. The goats often wonder but they still need me. The horse is adored and adores its importance. The cows in every hour howl their truth. " We love planet earth" *munch *munch *munch "But bring back the moooooo"

The end