On Never Becoming A Farmer, A Milkman, But Always Becoming

I think I should post.
But then I feel the lack.
I need to do something worthwhile.
Then come back.
But that takes the day.
And it's now night.
I will listen to Raga.
Eat pretzel sticks.
And Bill Monroe picking at somebody's house.
Only because I have never heard either.
Not because either somehow should identify me.
Who I am.
That doesn't matter now.
Really.
Identity is vegetative.
And I vegetate.
Transforming is pro-creative.
And I create.
Create a Think.

Another time we'd be taking in the harvest.
And then snore deep farmer snores.
Or become a milkman.
And early morning chores.
That hat and truck.
"Morning, Mrs. Somethingorother!"
"We're needing cheese today. And two quarts."

No.
No more of it now.
No field for me to gaze at.
No cow.
No funny truck.
No funny hat.
Time-go-become.
Not be stuck.
With yesterday's.
Past.