Read this post after reading Charles Simic's "Club Midnight"
So, you’ve sold your seedy nightclub.
Are you now the sole owner of an organic farm?
Are you its sole forest gardener, its do-nothing farmer?
Are you its sole crop rotator loosening its green manure?
Do you spend the wee hours summoning insects
To gorge on weird germs and improve crop fertility?
Is your plough flying through Compost Valley
Or sinking in the glistening greensand?
Are bearded Punjabi yogis your silent partners?
Do you have a ploughman by the name of Wendell Berry?
Is Grendel’s Mother coming to the harvest?
Do you happen to have as much forced bliss-energy as you have biodiversity?
Do you have a hunch you’re a cosmic being playing being human?
Is that why you wear Bhakti boots
And kick the eroding Earth sky high?