Field

Field is pause field is plot field is red chigger bump where the larvae feed corn wig curled in your ear. Field cares not a fig for your resistance though kindly gently lay your head down girl lay it down. When ready storm when summer kilned smoothly as a cake. Awake! Awake and wide is field. And viral. Biotic. Field of patience of percolation and policy. Your human energy. Come again? What for? In field there is no time at all no use a relief the effort done which is thank you finally the very lack of you. Lay your head down girl lay it down. In field which has waited since you first ascended to the raw end of your squared off world and gazed upon your subjects: congery of rat snake corn snake of all the low ribbons bandaging the stalks. Progress in field foot sliding in matter slick chaff in fall. And always field's oboe this sawing a wind that is drawing its nocturne through the 23rd mansion of the moon. Field is Requiel's music and the Wild Hunt of offer. In field they are waiting you are sounding. Go home.