938

Dylan said something about
precious time and Spanish leather
but I don’t have either

so find me in the woods
chewing bark
and wearing a crown of dirt
and flowers

I have all my things
in a canvas sack
and I wrap it in herbs
and things I find littering
my clothes after a long hike
through the pines

now I don’t drink alone

I feed deer bits of leftovers

I let the spiders curl
up against my fire
roasting their prey
in my coals

I know all my buttons

I might have chased
a beast which put me here
forever staring at the sun
between bent fingers and
half averted eyes

I don’t understand

it doesn’t stop raining
even when there’s not
a cloud to wish upon

I don’t understand

if I pass out
make me a bed of moss
and strike a match against
my skin
aged by the things
I kill myself with

it’s not so gray

what’s so bad
that’s kept us away