press my pretty face in the green grass—
a growing layer of never-ending cloud cover—
searching for the smaller world
with my pretty face and the green grass
touch my fair fingers to the cold earth—
the perfect foundation for third-person encounters—
operas in earnest, no such thing as city light
with my fair fingers and the cold earth
expose my sunflower iris's to solemn forms—
as transcendental yet as microscopic as myself—
wondering if realization is truly universal
with my sunflower iris's and solemn forms
manifest my bright mind to passive poetics—
internal analysis between simple and sublime—
with my face in grass, and hand on earth
The Sun snarls ferociously at my back.
Kale Beaudry
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/day-in-the-life-of-a-melted-plastic-soldier/
