skewered by a blade of grass

it was then that he told me those conditions
enrolled in uncertainty
kissing the skip in revival
there was really no such thing as a stamping ground
but on converted soil
there existed a malevolent truancy
galloping toward some skill
or other refound starry night

and saying no is as good as any way to keep on -
on the job
road
wagon
hop
hoof
to keep on the halo
with suns constantly
rising “is it still dawning?”
and dawning on you it will be
when a feather looks you in the eye
it’s time to, it’s time to, what is the word I’m looking for?: time to elope, evaporate, envelop and go post yourself

from the dull confines of folded paper, comes a two pronged gift, it means little to the passersby, skewered by some new-fangled dream, clinging onto the customer, perhaps you remember how good I was in the good ol’ days, then again your memory left you behind on Main Street, where else, collapsed into the artery of town, a full scale reminder, if one were needed, of how green the grass is up close, and how many sodding blades make up a lawn, and how provincial it is to write ‘lawn’ and yet we’re happy to tread on something living when we actually have to go somewhere, tum te tum te tum… lots of green stuff squeaking
– “why me?”

but getting back to uncertainty…