In setting up our farming town.
A sun sets over the farming town.
In our night, with proud permission,
one may proceed. Curious to know
what’s in the petting zoo:
old yearbooks (photo of a Daniel behind an Underwood, 1928)
a very small cow (or Dalmatian)
Why mushrooms at the edge of bridges. Why still butterflies, winged perch my notebook, pencilling in a portable truth, not to rely on references to states, or ghosts of literary pasts.
“Maple syrup here.”
To be as thirsty as flies that keep coming back.
The stuffed bear’s mouth is netted to not let in the flies.
Take to the dance floor like the rafters (frat boys) and bikers (all chopper fans) in a rockabilly memory. Their solid asses riding each innuendo before the music comes.
Such insects, as us, don’t know to exist elsewhere. Stephen says mud is the worm’s world.