The edge of me.

On the edge of me.
Sitting lord, I´ve sat goggle eyed.
Caught wishing in the middle of silly fantasies.
Making me feel like a misfit.
Part of me longs to settle somewhere
flowerheads worship the daylight.
Hot brown earth holds up bold sheen trees.
The skin of the land, it´s hair.
My skin and the hairy edges of me.
That´s where I am, still in the barren neglected part
of noman´s land.
Turning it over fertilising it, watering it.
procuring essential seed and growing conditions.
rerouting the trickle of my exhausted will.
The flow eats away at the edge of me.
Until I am round and smooth no longer rough.
Until I am a global forest.
Fresh and wholesome.