The looming and haphazard shape of this poem
Reminds me of the contours I once saw way back when
I was a wee little boy in the fields of Wisconsin on a frigid
Springtime morn. How I frolicked from grass to grass between
The roads until I saw, stacked higher than I, the Colossus, its outline
Shaped not unlike the shape of your poem, ever so massive and casting no shadow
In the gray overcast sun. Covered in pale grass and exhaling steam like a dragon,
How it slept on the earth at the edge of my neighbor's farm, lumpen and megalithic, the
Size of a toolshed. My young eyes could not believe the sloughing mass. I ran from it at first,
For fear that the great wooly thing might move of its own accord. To the eyes of a wee Wisconsin
Child, this was a prehistoric creature, or a sleeping bridge-troll, disguised in the grass and corn wastage
That grew upon its back like moss on a sloth- Or an island on the back of a great whale. But it seemed
This visitor did not intend to move at all. And when I poked it with a stick, my eyes watered from the stink
And nearly did I vomit, for rather it appears that my young mind elected to make monsters from a massive and
Malignant mound of manure-- Rather than the harmless windmill, I had lanced a hill of cow crap, and on breaking its
Congealed and grassy hide, unleashed a beastly devil miasma that wounded my young nose and stuck to my small clothes and
Tormented my very dreams for days. Anyway that's just something I remember now. For whatever reason this poem reminded me of it.
