Working on the land with my hands.
Banging my head against a brick wall.
Kicking a dead horse with my feet.
The small of her back all covered in dirt.
Viewing their deaths from up close,
scratching around, picking lint off the floor.
Sniffing around for the smell of success.
The house on the hill ablaze.
Not a negative outlook,
but a realistic one.
Steeped in observational judgement,
but realistic nonetheless.
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