This sensuous connection,
the feeling of true warmth and home.
As though mother earth and I were meant to co-exist
in such a respectful way to each other,
and every other solitary simpleton recycled throughout,
this strange happening of happenings.
As I tumble about,
physically connected to the ground on all planes,
rolling about in the bliss of peace,
the vast infinity of the sky above,
the solid density of the clay and earth and rock below,
I wander about in my wonderings.
The Market-Man was about half past a circling of the sun
in the direction of home,
and I lay amongst the poppies,
sickly silent,
yet thinking all the while.
What does a body do
when in conflict with it's environment.
When the very circumstances of it's time
it's culture
it's personal perception of creation
and destruction
disagree?
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