I Felt the Grass Grow in My Toes

I feel rusty-

The Tin Man itching his skin as he calls for Dorothy!

Dorothy my dear, dear me,

I cannot help

But scrape my fingernails across my creaking skull

I have not held the pen enough of late,

The dandelions have flown away away away

My words mumble between dry, crackling lips,

I must cough the moths free, let my innards free

To oil my body, and then perhaps I can

Waddle back up the Yellow Brick Road

Through this field

And back to home.