oak trees in vases

I am all animal. There is nothing
enlightened or high about me.
the oak trees are dead.
there are no more wildflowers on the prairie.
there are no more walking eaters. what will
take our place? I think it would be nice
if we became horses. that would be fine.
horses with hands. how about that.
that would help. we could gallop and crap
the flower seeds back, and the honey
bees would live in the hive and we could still play cards

There is too much anger or love in me.
Its bad news panda. I wish all the converts
would go back to Hinduism, even if it is
just another warm blanket. I never had
a problem with warm blankets.
it’s the ones that kill that prick my skin.
see how science affects me, the wash bin.
I am a red dust bowl. once a dog bit my cute part.
Now when I see a dog I want to kick its face in,
even the little dogs.

I was stung by a bee but it died for it.
I’ve yet to kill on purpose (luck be a chicken tonight).
honey is better than a dry nose or an empty jar.
I wonder if I am ham or corn flour.
I used to be a lady’s boot.
I am sure I met you then.
you have a sidestep I’d never forget.

flowers are better in vases.
that way they are dead, but don’t know it.
I’ve never been able to tell the difference
between a knife and a mill. Sawdust and blood
are united in my make out heaven