Netflix Green Man

Netflix the Green Man and any screen

becomes a vineyard. Episodes cluster

and climb, trellis narrative. Between

the corn and lichen, creepers muster

nine lives. They grow, divide, and splice,

steal scenes by running fox grape, bittersweet,

return on any handheld device

as moonseed, woodbine, dodder, buckwheat — 

false buckwheat — note, though star- and heart-shaped.

He trucks some mascot for our kids, glad-hands

a sidekick dressed to burrow, root, and take

them through their lessons rattling dad’s

bouzouki nerves, mom’s percussive bones.

Return, that ritual button, pressed like wine

in HD, when end credits jolt. Stop time,

we’re keyed up. Eternal return? Eternal jones.