Compromising
These variations are on the straight and narrow when Encapsulated in the harrowing straw Of your barnyard rumble. I come out of the silo looking for corn. I am hay. I am the morning before the weeds burn in the yard. I am the last heckle in the sarcasm of the geese. The farmer turns his back on me because He wants me to pick his pocket. I depend on the weakness of strangers. I am writing a book On how it’s wrong to be alright with the world.