I make stitches out of the dry grass
Neat
Tidy
The angel lifts up her arms
He paints over her name
To make it more
The shells rest on the shelf
He sits on the stone
Making black lines
The man who cuts the grass nods
Stops the mower for one moment
The cut grass smells nice
In the back of the truck
It looks like a bed
I am tired
It is hot on the bench
The stain on my trousers goes crisp
Unmovable
The man with the cigarette drives by
He scares me
I wrap my hand and make the bed
It is nice
Fresh
Like cut grass
I am drowning in black and gauze
The TV flicks in the toaster
Red and blue
Six hours a life time
Six letters posted
By the red letter man
I have been watching the same picture
Forever
A trail of powder dust and bones
I will buy apples
Red
Keep your words in my precious bag
Black
Forever
I make stitches out of the dry grass
Neat
Tidy
They will not hold
Turn me to gold
I lift up my arms
Lost in the solution.
