FLOUR AND WATER

In the golden morning,
even in the gray,
I am the grain
before it is ground.

Here, beside my shadow,
I am.
And even when I am not,
my shadow is still
just as real
as it is here, beside me.

Before I am plucked,
picked, pocketed,
or otherwise requisite
by the necessities
of slap-happy-stupid
human beings.

“My children.”
“My 401K.”
“My insurance.”
“My house.”
“My bills.”
“My bank accounts.”

My, my, my;
They all buy into
the same dream;
The same clogs
that turn their wheel.

In the golden morning,
even in the gray,
I am the grain
before it is ground.

And as wheels spin—
and the stone turns,
I will be screaming.
I will be shrieking.
I will not stop
screeching
until I am planted
back beneath the ground.

Here, beside my shadow,
I am still
the grain before it is
ground.

written on 02/21/2012 by: Matt Kane