Cut a Lawn Cut a Lawn Cut a Lawn Cut a Lawn

Looking back for a reason when asked why
it took a ticket to the sticks, it said something
about semantic satiation / and something about
being pushed only so far before the pushing of it
back / and the irony that no one wants you when

you’re dragged to the curb with a sign that says
‘free,’ but how fast they steal you when told
you have some worth / there’s no value in
manicured grass when the world could be an
overgrown overture / there’s a price for the

tame / chaos invites us, creeps under doors,
climbs so much higher than the window sills,
still wheels forward even when out of gas / say a
phrase too much to lose a meaning / but say it
again and it gains a reckoning / every day before

the dawn, you hear it whisper / you feel it speak
slowly into your ear, smirk / it curls a beckoning
finger toward horizons / when the world tells you
‘cut a lawn’ long enough, it starts to sound like
‘come along come along come along come along.’