54 The Meadow More Than Myself Richard Martin When I finally got good and scared the first thing to happen was I ripped my yard to pieces. Replaced a wild flower bed with a mechanical one designed to preserve wetness and absorb heat. The annuals resting here with mandated nutrients and forced oxygen. That made me feel better about the things beyond preservation and conservation; the natural workings of CO2 and the depletion of my Sun’s energy. So, I wheel her charity to its destination. To the Professional of recycled masses, broken and fragile glasses. He has the power to both hurt and help, purely at his discretion. He is well into a story about 3 soldiers who almost died when their tanks ventilation systems went down. He saved them from suffocation. He then takes my worries for a minute and we’re off to home, the world and myself. Our thoughts find us easily in the dead quiet. The world thinks, I must keep going, regardless. Fill me with all the poisons you want as long I keep turning! I’m thinking, The world could end any minute. When it does, I hope it believes I loved it more than myself. I stand there fractured, completely fucked on what to do next. The world tries to fit into her mechanical flower bed but the tailored stone cut at the sores of her surface, and rakes natural blasphemy on someone who loves me. in wonder at their caskets, instead of in disgust.
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