The Scarecrow

i'm a scarecrow in a viridescent field i observe ideas, yet can't exploit them to yield unable to move, allocating inattention i'm filled with concepts and hypothetical intentions i watch as the dead grass falls from my arms wildfires don't scare me, but crows trigger my alarm the crows, they think they are worthy of maize they live in the clouds, but don't see the haze they're all the same and they're never afraid so i watch the field, wishing it was ablaze i'm a scarecrow in a viridescent field it's pretty and fertile and sometimes i feel a flower at my foot, but i realize it's a dream 'cause the air is poison and the crows always scream i watch the rows form a complicated maze i'm so lost and confused, but i've never even raised a foot to walk; i've rarely ever moved and now the crows are here, so again i'll lose i see this mystifying place, through this expanding haze it's pretty, but it would look better in flames and so would i, 'cause then maybe i'd make the crows afraid finally afraid