natchurrally, I’d drive the tractor, back up skillfully, too
as I’m still flat, flattened, corn, soy, wheat to the core
plus hogs and cattle. As for chickens, you need
justly one rooster
let me cackle, however faintingly

never intended to become this monkish

or wrote on the wall

now

regarding my social or love life

or worldly rage

Winter Storm Watch

Slow Emergency

a natural wilderness

rarely still

within me

with a monk’s prayer for good bread

daily needing and kneading

after manna or

a rice bowl

should I be begging, Zenlike,

hand me pasta and potatoes

followed by cake

all praise to whatever

I’ll blissfully polish away

with a portion for Buddha or a stray squirrel