Out-Side
The grower's child and the picker's child want to run away
They want to go to Duluth, the most exotic place they know
We fear he'll get amoralous and ruin us, ruin us
Here the rain is falling, straight as pokers
But never piercing the laconic plane of air
A sudden wind will blow it sideways, straight into eyes
It is too warm to stay in one place, but to follow --
I make up my mind before the gate hits me on the way out
They call for me, but I run, I run
I've run
Weeds underfoot buoy me to the sky
My age doesn't matter now, nor my circumstance
Only my good feet, my big lungs to take in the blue
My calves
I know the laws of the universe but there's no reaction
Not here or now
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