Him

Weedy green grass (or something resembling grass) only appears to sprout between my toes. So I've decided to stay here in my yard. I plan to make two fluorescent lamps seem to stem from dry brown soil. An unknowing passerby will ponder unlikely intentions for the phenomenon. "When did walmart become a force of nature?" a smirk. And continues to pass. I plan to topple the last tree such that it's wide trunk meets level with my waist. I plan to proceed with a thin coat of cherry wood finish. By moving a large speckled stone, I will constitute a table for dining or drawing or writing or typing or waiting for my garden bed to grow. A garden bed of soft blue ferns and kind vines to form a mattress, firm and fair. I plan to stay. To pass time here. Strange social circles would speak of the gritty, ragged stranger who has confused the outdoors with in. Some suspect he keeps secrets and knows magic. Few are aware he knows no better. And still others figure he is just joking.