rumors abound
about a tool
buried in our yard
they say it’s rickety
straw man bone
worn good, from its time on
either side of ground
sweat-dipped tenants put their
stories on it
into its wood grips
and in its metal fork-wave mouth
they all talked to themselves as they worked
and all that talking over this tool
couldn’t but unsettle the steel
I'm out there often
my ear to the grass,
a believer in the echo, I’ve
become the lunatic
in search of
a thing to push up and down the yard
to move earth,
or to move things on earth
the land must have a defense for my digging
a molecule cascade
to secure reprieve
from inquisitions by the unvocationed
my ragged edges tire
on the pit ledge
stared into my thousandth cave
sinking the neighborhood with my shovel,
in search of some buried plow
about a tool
buried in our yard
they say it’s rickety
straw man bone
worn good, from its time on
either side of ground
sweat-dipped tenants put their
stories on it
into its wood grips
and in its metal fork-wave mouth
they all talked to themselves as they worked
and all that talking over this tool
couldn’t but unsettle the steel
I'm out there often
my ear to the grass,
a believer in the echo, I’ve
become the lunatic
in search of
a thing to push up and down the yard
to move earth,
or to move things on earth
the land must have a defense for my digging
a molecule cascade
to secure reprieve
from inquisitions by the unvocationed
my ragged edges tire
on the pit ledge
stared into my thousandth cave
sinking the neighborhood with my shovel,
in search of some buried plow
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