The grass imagines violent revenge
in the name of the physical universe.
In turn, it rises up and bunkers down.
As with the grass, I was once green, defiant
and beautiful. No one could tell where the flesh
stopped and the dream took over, the hair,
the fashionable jacket, the red socks,
the dock of the bay, the disk (the secret
mint?) pinned to my lapel with its checkered
ska dancer. Wind blows through the trees; musicians
smoke and worry about their hats. As with
the wind, my comings and goings merely
annoy the scene makers, the rankers,
the hanky-pankers, and protest kids
Published on April 18th, 2023
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