Glee From Farm to Fridge

Let the stiff sun curl over
the bedspread. Slated blinds
hung low and leaky adjacent
to my crowded head. Clownish
and muted, bracketed lumps, a body
under the covers, breathing.
I will come into the room with my
arms and throat. In the medium
of the electric mechanism of delight
I rule. On the 6th floor some words
light up the room from the computer.
Don't doubt books with burlap covers.
A fist full of low cash. Then we take a hike,
feed a gull lobster bits, shake off
the blast of cold air, and get it on.