In Mud Believe

 

Photo credit: Scott Cain "In The Mud"

In Mud Believe

The boy drove the GMC diesel over the mud on top of the ball that floated around the fire in the nothing 

He wheeled his way over by here and where he would spend the day burying his words in the muck

In the darkness before the bluest of blue and the truest of true he could only imagine words seen by an assistant who helped lament them into the mire

The assistant, a pious creature who scorned fantasy believed truth was as true as caribou and no slop could stop him

Was unlike the boy who saw words on the wall born of make believe were destined to become true and again buried beneath the guck back into fantasy

His assistant, who screamed caribou and smoked doobies too, believed mud made no science nor fiction, only truth and any other nonsense was an affront to the name of the maker

But the boy wondered why his little angel could neither see, nor hear the journey taken over and under the mud. How could this assistant be a true angel of proper theology and geometry. 

Was he no more than un-lived mysteries that began at 6:30am on a winding path through the hills and woodlands of Leelanau

What did it matter to the boy who greedily went about singing while slinging mud and wanting the love of the maker. 

It was he to fantasize about hugs, makers, and words under the mud. 

Later he drove the GMC diesel over the mud on top of the ball that floated around the fire in the everything