I am a Farmer
Slicing up the air
Like bread
I am a warrior artist
Harvesting the wind
You have a choice
Unlike the mud
To hear the music
Or the noise
You have a choice
Like a child’s hand on a hot stove
To see the beauty
Or the ugly
There is no answer blowing around
The wind has no Godhead
There is no judgement or opinion
The only voice is the donky on the hill
You see the love
In the machine
Or you don’t
You hear home
in the leaves of the trees
Or you smell the hell
Islands are part of the ocean
We grow stronger
Like the sand
Always giving, giving, giving
We let it sink to the bottom
Like buried treasure
Deep into the cold mud
The fish flow over it
They cover it with
Their shits
Here lies
the shit covered gold
Safely
Where it hurts no one
(This poem was originally recited on October 31, 2014 at Shorty’s in Barenbach, Germany)
Schwervon! 