......the oxen and the whole field filled with grains grown as its ability dictates. means there's a path. let the animal prove its able. no use to cane or alter what's stable without graves as decals. never seen a wild cemetery. nor do these creatures ponder until they are senile. creators free to feel dirt mold plants according to the journey water takes to be tapped. self-contained, these beings strut partly because it is they a tree loves. not those in a hurry to give the heart logic. it is akin putting a period where a comma's got it. stopping an animal living life full to give it a piece of what's primarily halved. your thoughts. or anything anyone's throat sees. words. uniform sound constructed. however, an ox doesn't need an opinion to confirm its initials. just food. not word. it already has its hide. beautiful, bound instructions. freedom of silence. only displaying it's journey with spine. and not with counting down. simply a kiss, chew, a bite of its ground. this then leaves those reading at a distance as far as leaves are to their breading. roots. but an ox keeps touch of what it surrounds. no thoughts of bounds. endless measures of it's existence in the absence of? what is write. daily, a double conscious jeopardizes the game of life. unlike the ox, most time is ate though all are stuck in a hungry state of wanting what at first failed. considered bait. a clever contraption allowing one to become oblivious of their gait. stepping to the written command keeps none walking. talking is the only spate that maintains these pathless landscapes. no direction. freedom of speak has most saying but afraid to place faith in their own mouths. saying it without their chest. Hart's shouts. an ox needs not be written for to plow.'
mitishamba ~ a wild word
'the green animal'