I hit the ball.
The ball winds down a grassy corridor, gleaming in the fall's orange glow,
My breath stifles, closing a moment, and it all starts to bend.

(inhale) Bending... (exhale)

A troup of lizards march up this chalky hill, and a curve lays like a lanyard discarded, groovy and misshapen
And they walk with detached, floppy fiddle strings across the green to apprehend the ball.

The ball eludes them and redirects to the rough, and the hole sits, agitated and circular.

(inhale) Bending... (exhale)

On the couch, I stretched.
Thinking and wondering why gnats never sleep.
I'm at the apartment, one thumb over my left eye looking at the exterior of a DVD,
Thinking and wondering why gnats never sleep.

A closed mind in transit with a DVD lodged between left and right brain,
Left eye socket with left brain in
Right eye socket with right brain in
I press my thumb to my right eye, and the DVD spins, tickling my brain and playing.

(inhale) Bending... (exhale)
I putt.
Gently, one flinch from the right arm.
Loosely holding the left arm in place.

The ball rolls again, grinding the grass beneath.
It has the gumption to gather its matter and mass.

(inhale) Bending... (exhale)
Click.
It is sunk inside its cubbyhole.

Relax.
I know your instincts are screaming to fight.
This is a mistake.
You will only hurt yourself.
Just relax.

You are frightened, confused, and angry.
This is only natural.
You will tell yourself to not feel these things.
This is a mistake.
Feel them, own them.
They are yours.
It is only natural.
You are being dragged backwards through a hedge.

You say,"Stop it!
The branches are tearing my shirt!
This is my favorite shirt!"
This is a mistake.
**** your shirt.
Tear it into bandanas,
sell them on Etsy.
Just buy more shirts.
Pack of four. $9.99. Wal-Mart.
Tell a stranger a story
about the scars the hedge gave you.
Maybe he'll trade you
a shirt for a good story.

But you say,"My pants!
The hedge is covering my favorite pants in grass stains!"
Stop that.
This is a mistake.
Cover your pants in new and interesting stains.
Paint in them.
Spill food on them.
Comfort a dying animal,
let it bleed on them.
Do too much *******,
**** yourself.
Get bored, cut them into daisy dukes.
Try wearing a skirt, a sarong, a loincloth, the wind.
Calm down,
they're just pants.

"But what if I break the hedge!
The Homeowner's Association will **** me!"
This is also a mistake.
**** the Homeowner's Association.
You did not choose the hedge.
The hedge did not choose you.
And once you're on the other side,
you won't to answer to them.
No one will find you, and
you don't have to come back.
Unless you want to.
But that is your decision.
Yours and the hedge's,
no one else.
Remember that.

"But who is dragging me through this hedge?
What kind of hedge is it?
Why is this happening to me?"
These are the wrong questions.
You are being dragged backwards to through a hedge.
That is all that matters.
Concern yourself only with what matters.
Making it through.
Landing on your feet, or
barring that, getting back up.
Seeing what's on the other side.

So you ask,"what is on the other side?
What if I hate it?
What if it's a parking lot?
What if it's all sticky?
What if everything's on fire?
What if it's just more hedges?"
Relax.
You're looking at it all wrong.
Maybe your friends are all there.
Maybe it is all sticky.
Maybe it's a combination liquor store,
ice-creamery,
minigolf course,
and you can pour whiskey on your face,
and eat Rocky Road,
and finally get a hole-in-one on that ******* windmill.?
Maybe it's the way home.
You're still looking at it wrong.
This, too, is a mistake.

You were dragged backwards through a hedge.
Dragged.
Backwards.
And you made it.
While you were worrying
you didn't notice you already made it through.
So now you're here,
on the other side.
Now it's your call.
You can do as you wish.
Watch the sunset.
Or dive into a new hedge, maybe
headfirst this time.
Or walk home.
Or make a new home.
It's your choice.

And really, who's going to stop you?
Some puny ******* bush?