farmers_hands werewolf hold too loose, like chicken feed, or too tight, like reins. every morning get a jump on the sun, every morning never catch it. scars cover up what it feels like to be grabbed, they wrap around a rake like it's a water throat wriggling to get away. like they'll squeeze gold out of it. delicacy and patience is lost waiting for the cow to bring you milk or the hens to offer up their eggs. you've never quite got what you thought you should, and why should anyone else. others've got their own sun to catch. this is my way. i've been raised to love it as one takes in something that won't go away. there's a strength to that. i realize that when you kiss me, i am no different, i am that dirt, a field with an empty horizon and a single dirt road as a gate. we roughly grab it, the familiar, we douse ourselves in it, untill the love outruns the hatred, the business outruns the lonliness and we're ready for dinner bell, another clean white pillow we place our head upon, held down by our day like chickens on the block. 031219 ... Death of a Rose are fast becoming replaced by greehouses hands. i'll start saving up for the tombstone. 031219 ... Death of a Rose shite..... one more time... are fast becoming replaced by greenhouses hands. i'll start saving up for the tombstone. 031219 ... notme i watched my skin burst open and the blood stain the wood 031219 ... .nom i was planting corn in one of my dreams 050214 ... stork daddy in the distance, more of the same. 050215 what's it to you? who go blather from