Before you happened by there (where path just skirts the plunge of meadow into pine), Some boys come up the creek Were lighting Roman candles, Trying strength of arms, hurling Rocks at the backstop Of my hollow log. Faultless and unknowing, One tiptoe over rattled den, you drew Two second slosh of blurred-eye angry Fork of frightened viper tongue. When the whole forest heard your scream Of twofold realization, scorned By awareness, shocked to scales, That raw, embarrassed canker shrunk Back into burrow nursing Blank and broken stare. Unwilled is as it ferments and the brew of ignorance is venom spit in veins of bare reaction. Three hundred million lands Beyond our western shore there is A place with ground smooth as your palm— No mountains, no rivers, only ocean Of flowers in amber, ancient volcanic Islands of petrified wood. For three Hundred million springs, this prairie will Extend in eternity, perfectly flat. You should send me there and I shall go to coil under dirt until all my leaks run dry.
probably not a final edit, if this returns, but moving on and good enough for now. Thanks for reading.