yes, i wood.

duders,
i've got 'em.
firewoodsly logs,
split, dried, and delivered at the break
of the A*crack of the dawn's earliest lights.
heaping helpings of hot fire's favorite foresty fuel,
to heat things up,
and block my mutha-flippin' driveway.
truckloads of goodness, y'all,
dumped out and piled high,
spread about and patiently awaiting the tetris-style
puzzle-piece pyramids we're building up...
that's right, neighbors-
i'm 'bout to be on that homestead woodshed
pack and stack attack activation.
for really real,
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress stays cold
for nine full months out of the year.
(although this year it felt cold all summer too)
that means we need rip-roaring conflagrations
to emanate and circulate the new hottness and
a imbue general sense of warmth throughout the vast
expansive battlements of this old busted bastion
of luxurious new englandy dopeness.
i mean,
you wouldn't want me to freeze my butthole off?
would you?
wood you?
teleport:

yuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
big ol' monster mountains of maple and oak.
i doo-doo that stored-potential thermal nutrient jauns.
and starting today,
i'm getting busy with that wood-chop axe-warrior
kindling split-up sh!t,
making sure my great big sexy apple crates
are packed tight to the tacks with strips and chips
and slivers of firestarting sticks.
tinder, son.
you need it.
who's helping me?
you?
oh,
you're busy.
i get it.
i'm busy too.
*
it's friday,
i've got chores,
i've got work,
i've got it going on.
all of it keeps happening,
every time, every day, every place.
real life unfolds, kids;
never quiet, never soft.....