look I found an old poem from high school

glow-in-the-dark stars

or real

the car zooms by

as I lie there

in the suburbs

banality

to speak

to exist

 

“What the heck is He doing in the grass?”

We pass by.

What the heck

is He doing

in the grass.

 

We pass by.

 

Our light rockets past His grassy spot,

To us

it is brighter –

much brighter

than those supernovas

that are twinkling

 

that are frail

 

that are snuffed out by the mere existence of a streetlight.

For a glimpse

He stubbornly lies

in the grass,

itchy,

damp,

stubborn,

 

effervescent.

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