i can be
while the ants
in my brain
collect all
the scraps
i seem to
have missed

a long drive
in the middle
of nowhere
watching as
the hawks circle
the brown fields
lets the kernels
bloom in the
forefront of
my gelatinous goo
clarifying all
the hints into
aching truth

someone once said
a picture is
worth a thousand words
sometimes it is
exactly what it is
even if we cannot
make ourselves
choose to see it

how deeply
into my ear
do i need to put
the red straw
on the can of
ant killer
to be sure that
i get all of
the insipid bastards

i mean really
what’s a little
brain damage
to a fool drowning
in the words left

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