Between the Grass

In between grass blades, you see dirt and the love for this world, and no one really sees the laughter of little kids’ songs as they are heard from the heart.

Tire tracks on people’s lawns and mowers for all of us to hear as we all sink into a morass of swamps full of bills and dyed processed meats to feed our mouths.

This love comes from a deep end of hearts full of avarice and maladjusted imagination.

Here we all like and loathe and prevaricate and lull and fuck and love and eat dead morsels of dead herbs that fulfills our ubiquitous minds all the way up to the zenith of a cat's jump from a tightrope.

Dig my heart and take it to your soul and let it rest because, in my torso, it always makes a heap of tumult and attacks calamity with anxiety and, oh, my back spasms.

I want to crack that bridge to my head.

Life is alive always even in between the grass blades even when they are dying because they overripe with water or air or thoughts with innovations from long ago that came from a big black tight hole.

We dig and dig into our success but hair, mind, body, laughter, sadness will be dilapidated.

Music and the sound of beauty washes away but engraves so profusely in our melancholic hearts and souls.

Live living life forever in your heart and don’t hold back the love for the cursing wine and your significant other that was a burden in this conformity that is so uniform.

Live living life just like the dirt beneath my boot that steps all over my heart’s affinity for woman, child, mind, and soul.

-

By Bazooka Teaches