There’s a breeze and it’s blowing me down the road, rattling this bag of bone
As I make my way through the storm, there’s a scrapyard prowler on my tail
I flagged me down a driver, I says take me the long way home for I am the passenger seat prophet you’ve been waiting for and I long to see the chicken wire again
I awoke in the morning with a green throat and a sore head, like a jellyfish sprawled on your clean bed
And not knowing what to do, I just fell in love with you as the dog outside the door craved my attention
I think I’d like to meet The Groundskeeper but I don’t know I think I’ve lost him along the way. He’s been etherized he’s got William Burroughs’ eyes I think he’s had his day lounging in the sun with his weed gun, thorns and nettles on the run
The ragged brush he swept the pavement which he kept so clean, I’ve seen it in a dream
Then sitting down
Wiping off the sweat from his furrowed brow, with a rag of Irish tweed.
Take me back
I’ll abuse no more I’ve been falling by the wayside in real time
I think I’d like to meet The Groundskeeper
But I don’t know, I think he’s brewing tea
Come with me, let’s see
Behind the willow door manuscripts lie bare fill them with words that reassure like a language no one’s speaking anymore
In the corner there’s a bookcase for his bed and a thin straw hat to rest upon his head, he says it brings him closer to the land so it wears it as a crown for the common man