The sweetpeas turn blue as they die. I guess
they sweeten while other things sour. The clock
loses fifteen minutes every two days. The long
meadow grasses are lying on their sides. To be summer
all summer long makes a body want to drop. A man
who knew John Philip Sousa said genius is making
the irrational inevitable. I’m inclined to agree.
It’s irrational that the planet came to be and then
came to this: a beautiful country summer that can barely
keep its head up, coupled with long wars that turn the clouds
blue. Plus the fact we die. God was a genius. I know
I should change my life, the way grapes change to wine,
but I can’t change my mind. Did you know you can make wine
out of anything? It’s the color of blood before blood meets
oxygen. Here, have some. If you don’t mind I’d like to put on
a military march. Look at the evening meadow! Of course,
underneath it all, the insects are tearing each other to pieces.
You know, if its just the same with you I think I’ll sit here
awhile before I turn in. Suit yourself. There’s no sense
in arguing. Could we hear that again? It perks a body up.