Wavy spike tall grass
Interwoven in me
Spindles between my spine and nose
A cross hatch of flexibility and structure
It tries to impress a flight plan upon me
A way to drive the thorns into the trees
A trick of the fight flight boys and their ever sinking ships.
Green stalks coming through my eye sockets
White light flooding out of me
Telling me to submit
Never one to flow
I……am no crowd pleaser
No sir.
I’m not here to calm hot heads and cool faces
Even as these flowery posts consume me with their floral scents and drive by eyes.
I am not an instrument to be played with such flaccid ambition.
Nor a Somnambulist ridden by Mother Nature’s erections.
If my growth and spread has any positive effect on you it is not by design on my part.
But a recognition in you of what I am portraying.
A nursery of cell and matter brimming with desire and bravery
Seedlings sprouting their heads into the great airy wilderness.
Each thought a new land and birth.
And in this I lay back and float along the tall Spike grass.






Michael Phillips 12/17/2003