ox hunting in bemidji

theres locusts in my blue grass

and willows that weep so verily

my canopy permits the scantest light

to come and go

leeches play in my silt

tickle toes in the custard shallow

theres good medicine in minnesota

good tinder from birch bark

once when i was a baby

drinking yogurt on the porch

a tornado spun out from the green horizon

it tore through my crops

autographed its thunder

and flattened me