Standing tall within a field of  

grass in midmorning in May in too many years  

with the plague of my head. 

I think…30 feet from the road 

I parked, I walked, I began stripping 

        In shirt sleeves now, dropped my trousers 

        and they hung at ease away from the waist. 

Semi-naked and God is everywhere, in everything. 

Holds me to every standard but my own 

but there is a hope he does not see my skin  

among the foliage of unnamed backroad #200.  

Yet these hands still hesitate against the cotton  

that guards my innate obscenities. 

        Each fiber unique in feel and pull 

        (unnecessary) Jockey holding all 

        of me in one, its inverse torso pyramid. 

        Woven capital cleanliness. 

                in clothing only my own 

                my haunches awake to the wind 

                head frees itself…forearms empty  

                stretched across the rear pulling myself open. 

Happy. Not improper, so as to forget the heretical nature of 

the action replaced with the elation of freedom.

What else now, I screamed out loud  

as much as possible for any angels, 

        massaged myself hot and thought 

        nothings but to grab and touch the parts of me  

        I could not touch alone.  

        In hindsight, it must have taught 

me how to be alone, love as only the self. 

Between the oaks, asphalt, beneath the powerlines, 

it was all life around me, and that breeze, 

soothingly attacked my fragile body, 

stiffened legs tainted in fresh air.

A miracle occurred there. I masturbated 

and came quick and God was there to watch, 

He delivered quickly.  

        A big damned snarling convoy 

        of eighteen-wheelers chased by three cop cars, 

        a funeral procession, and the Chicago Bears football 

        team rattled by in all their cars and trucks and buses. 

        So, I fell onto myself, half squatting in the wet.

I am only human and He can see me well, everywhere.