I pasture the goats and watch them eat me a poem

eat me eat me

eat me eat

at me eat me pasture the goats

            and watch them eat me a poem

                        pasture themg-  -                                                      -   *                               -   *  _

                                    watch them eat me :

the grass                                   *

No pressure to note all the flowers in the field; crushed memory, grass steps

No time for poetry but exactly what is

I’m kind of standing in the crotch of two highways, I think                                               *

two thighs, maybe

a motorcycle cruises by in the dusk, fluffing four black birds above it

Gendrie goes for the clover, Sweetie doesn’t care or

doesn’t mind

There is a brick wall out here

nowhere in the field

it’s you         *         at April        *        ’s party tonight

me, the goats,      then