Tuesday, August 2, 2016

The Lake Is My Cow Box

Acquaint me with oblivion.
The Goths lay siege to Rome. All fear
Is the same fear, the fear of ending
Horribly, whether bit by bit

Or on the rack. Oblivion
Is not itself the enemy.
No one in oblivion cares.
But the road to oblivion

Is twisted and mined with ambush
And explosives, armies marching,
Bandits lurking, your own past self
Having set a few of the traps.

I want to get back to the lake,
Green gold and cold below the waves
In summer. Oblivion there
Waits like a comfort, a lover.

Temple Grandin built a cow box
She could crawl into and control.
When she felt the pressure on her
She felt a peace, a moment, peace.

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