Sound Asleep

I’m the guy, you’re the girl

I am the bivalve and you the pearl.

I the habit, you are the choice.

I’m the lips, you’re the voice.

I the muscle but you the pulse.

You’re the desired, I the impulse.

You the shepherd and I the sheep.

You’re the dream and I sound asleep.

Sleep

An ox plows a hillside field
A farmer harvests wheat
A shepherd leads his sheep
And your ghost haunts my sleep.

Story of Buck

Up close he looks like a bereft cowboy
Waiting his turn for some more campfire beans.
Except Buck is in an institution,
both hands on hips posing in line for pills.
No rope nor gun, and not atop a horse,
No cowboy boots, neither donning a hat.
Still Buck had been a true cowboy no less,
Who'd owned some sheep and cattle and a ranch.
But then one day his soft reflection asked:
Oh Buck must we eat flesh, must we not grass?
So Buck let the ranch and the livestock go,
And grazed each day along with cows and sheep. 
But soon the land owners restrained our Buck.
They dragged him to the doctors; shackled, tied.
These days you won't see Buck out in the field,
But here surrounded by the walls—sans glass.
So now snowed into sanity, Buck sleeps.