So I'm walking past a
vacant lot
and feeling
overgrown; feeling
wet and ravenous
for aesthetics—when
many sticky-
headed
robins,
who'd been
darting,
hideous and
obsessed
through the
wet grass,
all seem to pause
for a cold split
second to chortle out to me—
how cool it
can be!
just to feel
hungry.
But—necessarily,
we mean
cool
in the warm sense.
Cool: as-in
genuine. Cool:
as-in
sincere. As-in—can't you
see and
hear it? how rich
and productive?
How
ardent and pleasant
and satisfying it is—
just to watch us hunting
this canvas of
weeds and
black mud—
for those
fat,
for those
blind,
for those
slow
lazy
worms.
