081613 #worm I'm hungry for some cock. One cornfield looks a lot like another. I want to masturbate. The orange beast is silent under a cemetary tree. The other travellers are occupied, some asleep. I wander off. One corn row looks a lot like another. I find a place to press my buttocks into soft silt. Summer smells and the buzz of bugs accelerate as I slow down. My ears, my head, my heart. We all make compromises with the fatality of the sun, I think as I begin to stroke myself. I smell wet. Rainclouds, my eyelids; I settle into a rhythm.