Home of Lee Majors

I don’t want total peace. 
Which is good because there’s a mouse 
driving a truckload of Class I explosives 
through the tunnel that connects my heart 
to the place fireflies hang out in the daytime.

The thing about being afraid someone 
will hurt you is that 
they will. 
Where is fear useful? In the tall grass. 
Can it feed us? Then keep it. 
Throw it in the tool shed.

Miracles do happen, however. 
There are seventy degree mornings 
in August. Beer is frequently available 
and sometimes refrigerated. 
The mouse is wearing 
a bolo tie. One day someone woke up
and invented the egg roll.

I could be doing anything right now 
and I’m choosing this: 
tearing off hunks of my body, 
slathering them in butter.
I am leavened. This is no 
subsistence food. We have time, 
we have yeast. We are not 
wandering in the desert.

We are home.