iron. naked as we came.

most things
seem quit artificial
mostly because
I have viewed them
previously.
I have read of sorrow
I have read
of moments
that were suppose to be
uncanny
but arent
because
I have read of them
I have read of love
and I have read of failure
and I have read of the numerous
ideas
on the notion of
society
and being here
and sensing it
in regions of high consentration
it seems
artificial.

you
the aching sense
of the the
necessity to deny
you
the still strong
root holding to the core of the earth
sense of breeze after a long
wasteful day
working for things
that once I am put within the ground will
hardly
matter
the breeze of you under
a burning melting sunshine that forces you
to come with
acute awareness
nude
awareness
of how
not artificial
at all
but brutally
brutally
real
all of this is
there is no more
years to come and hope
hope
for change
only
there is the now
and the tomorrow that are carbon identical
copies
of today.

then
there is the breeze
the breeze of you
and we sit in ordinary places
whispering ordinary things
and I am
lying on your arms
very
alright
with being
ordinary.