Extraordinarily Commonplace Poem by Troy Cochran

To put up with so many leaves
Outlived their usefulness,
Getting into everything,
Is a new awareness for me.

Have I become so commonplace
That I barely recognize myself
For dry leaves crunching underfoot?

My neighborhood, my yesterdays,
Become a vacant lot; a vacant look.

How did this commonness of days, this routine mentality,
Come to blanket me?

I've curled up in a book that's closing in on me.

Am I so ordinary after all?

Is this the onset of old age:to doze
Inside a book and never come back out again?

Or is this sleepiness just how a man
Collapses in upon himself
To re-dream the extraodinary
Dream of him?

Ah, now I begin to comprehend:

This is what it means to be a seed again!