shreds of flourescent

how we slog our way through
a damp but not soggy wet field
digging up the smallest potatoes
that make us ask each other
the worth-it-ness of it all

have i ever told you you’re my heeero
i sing to a potato that i hold up to the sky
in my hand and follow with a like that?
to mo who says that
these potatoes (and their growth)
make her proud
birdie catwell (the cat kitten) trotting
around outside the greenhouse
with a grasshopper
clamped between her teeth
the way, with use, the typewriter migrates
in an arc to the left across the desk as i
punch the keys which means i reposition the machine
every quarter page or so
moonstar, the other cat kitten
hacking up a lung
on the other side of my window screen
and the snotty sneezing
signs of infection that keep her
from being the self i know
(meaning – instead of seeking her
#1 favorite thing in the world [cuddles/closeness]
she wanders off out there into the dark)
on the run out, the shreds of flourescent pink
stretched across sky and on the run back
i pass through shadowed patches
under the tree canopy that spreads over the gravel road
and there is something good
(for body/brain)
about the reliance this brings
on other senses (besides sight)
to guide me through


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