Frostish

I want it so bad
I can feel it
In my barren gut.
The need consumes
My every single thought.
No.
It really
Doesn’t:
I want to milk
My cows at noon,
To have a lazy
Rooster crow at
Half past two
And piss off the
Neighbors when I
Ride the horses
Where I shouldn’t
And pick the corn
Whenever the hell I want
And plant peanuts
In the same soil
Over and over
And over again.

I want it so bad
I can taste it.