There is a hungry ox
the kind you see that never lifts its head
but only feeds on the endless rolling hills of grass,
never full but only stepping every few bites for fresher leaves
of grass. That is me. I am looking to be filled by something like grass
but not grass. I am looking for the other half of my soul.
I am looking.. but ashamed of looking, because I might
even be ashamed of being an ox, thinking instead
that I am a man, a tamer of beasts.