unconscious sonnet

I didn't know from the muddy road, / the earthworms squiggling under my bare feet, / sitting on a rock next to a toad, / summer next it'd all huddle and screech, / though the night smell would hover and the same owls speak, / that the waves would bounce off my ears, / couldn't cleanse myself in the creek, / and the humidity, so heavy and redolent, seers / down my back, / as I sprawl on the scorched grass, / realize nothing here can ever change / and I am as constant as my plot of sassafrass, / so I put on my olive hat, / hang consciousness on the clothes line, / pluck a dandelion, lean back, / and scatter the seeds with a sigh.