Texas

Sun at its most & the smell of it all green, actual green, grass while you lay yourself onto scowls & shrugs & coarse language, necessary & unnecessary, & around twenty clouds to the front & around fifteen to the right & none to the left & men of orange & of blue & my brother & an oblivion about how life is & how it actually is & how it seems to be & nothing but the self & the physique & the strength of a mind that is strong & the one that appears to be but is not & the one that is definitely not but sums up some strength from the depths of pride & turns tough & the sentiment of I sit atop the world for the field I run upon senses the caress of my feet, sweaty & all, going toward the glory I wouldn't otherwise reach.
Sun at its most & the smell of it all green, actual green, grass while you lie down thinking of nothing but glory.