paste! he skirts the area where the weeds decide on tricycles. they can extend from the end of his fingertip to the fencepost. he takes a rake and scratches the tractor, maniacally. his wife is dead, his children were stolen by a flabbergasted insurance salesman. just blew him the fuck away. verbally. so much that he had to splash his face with gallons. now he works on his bench out back. he needs to find just a few more screws, just a couple nails. he can hear everything howl or whisper, depending on the atomics. the farmer sags, waiting for the answer. 020710
farmerfish is bein' me. 020711
tchiseen read a philip levine poem. he is a farmer. he is a son. his father is the flame from a match and his mother is the grey sky above our heads. 040423
Sakhalin is Magnifique People grow stuff on Sakhalin too! Remember that! 060223
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