Furrowed Brow

The furrowed brow is not
    quite unlike the unfurrowed
    Waiting now
        for the planting.

The furrowed brow belies a thought
    which is not so much a seed
    than the manure
            into the soil.
Fertilizer but no genius
    no muse to summon forth
    the true spirit of the pen
and birther of the fruits
    of thought and feeling.

Furrowed but fallowed
    no truth has been writ
        and no measure has been
to avail oneself of what's

Where has the seed gone?
        Whither the muse
    who has withered
        ripe for whatever is to come.

And yet plenty does come,
    by the wind, by the wing
        by the hoof...
            we just call them

Cultivated by nature, and not
    the green thumb of man
    who would seek to tame
    that which nature makes unruly
    til the furrowed land lies
    hidden and only
    by nature chosen
        are given leave to grow.

And do we harvest this bounty
    this wolf among the weeds
    which is, in fact, a puppy,
        untrained, domestic
That we ourselves would call a wolf
    because we've already killed
        them all
        and no longer know
what the wolf is.

So we burn it all down,
    plow it under
        furrow the brow
and plant our wolves
    which will never see a
for the wolf is neither fruit
        nor seed
    but the brow furrowed
    turning thoughts
        into manure
turning the soil
    hoping to find gold in
    the ground
        so that we might plow no
    But that apple is spoiled,
        and the gilding stripped
            from the bough.
        just ask Midas
    the value of gold,
that skeleton in
    El Dorado:
All that remains in the land of

So unfurrow the brow
    unfurl the sails
        and leave behind the plow
and let the wind
    natures genius carry you
        the seed
and behold that you are
the weed that bears true fruit
    to those who know the
    and plough the mistletoe.