Thread: tool poem

It was daylight when you woke up in your ditch.
You looked up at your sky then.
That made blue be your color.
You had your knife there with you too.
When you stood up there was goo all over your clothes.
Your hands were sticky.
You wiped them on your grass, so now your color was green.
Oh Lord, why did everything always have to keep changing like this.
You were already getting nervous again.
Your head hurt and it rang when you stood up.
Your head was almost empty.
It always hurt you when you woke up like this.
You crawled up out of your ditch onto your gravel road and began to walk,
waiting for the rest of your mind to come back to you.
You can see the car parked far down the road and you walked toward it.
"If God is our Father," you thought, "then Satan must be our cousin."
Why didn't anyone else understand these important things?
You got to your car and tried all the doors.
They were locked.
It was a red car and it was new.
There was an expensive leather camera case laying on the seat.
Out across your field, you could see two tiny people walking by your woods.
You began to walk towards them.
Now red was your color and, of course, those little people out there were yours too.