Oregon Country Farm

i’m here

to write

to farm

to spin yarn

to pick fruit

to not follow suit

to analogize

to proselytize

to take my morning shot of Yeezus

and play imaginary tennis in the orchard

to be still

to burn, flex, and rest

to mine time

to sit on the dock of Highway 228

breathing a concoction of oxygen and carbon

to tap in

to tap out

to plow the page with ancient symbols

the clouds are moving fast

i’m here

and that’s exciting.