Thought Pasture

I awoke by a rippling creek in the woods. My dog Boris was asleep resting on my outstretched legs. As I looked up, peeking out at me, from behind an old wooden desk was a set of big brown eyes. “Good morning” she said. “Or perhaps I should say afternoon. You’ve been sleeping there for quite a while.” Now the fact that the big brown eyes belonged to a light brown cow with a dark brown cowlick atop her head set off by long black eyelashes and bright red lips wearing blue denim overalls didn’t puzzle me as much as the old grey steel Royal typewriter and the black rotary phone she was just picking up to answer. “Thought Pasture, Moos-room”, she said as she took off her cow-tag earring and began her conversation. She was sitting on a green leather chair that sat on a swivel base with wheels. “And where did you say the goat was seen last?” She swiveled in the chair, looked over at me, covered the receiver and said to me in a whisper. “I’ve got to take this. I’ll be wi...

I wanted more It really wasn’t a matter of why I was like a fireplace grate craving logs Where do all those logs go? In the meeting A woman was talking Sharing her story, of out of control I mean bottomless consumption of alcohol And all I could think about was the homemade Chocolate chip cookies behind me Sue had given me one of them I had noticed them when I came in But stayed away I knew the risk But when Sue offered the cookie I took it greedily Sue’s face and whole being Faded into the background All I could see was the cookie The cookie came to me At first I nonchalantly broke off a piece I stuffed my urge to swallow it whole Into my waiting grate And drain every bit of energy out of it Transforming it into a flame, whose masticated remains, would disappear Into the black hole of me. It was gone, the cookie, but I was engaged NOTHING, nothing in the room held my attention Like the gathering of homemade chocolate chip c...