The summer after I stopped writing

It's like a simple, what's it called?
And then a sigh
I walking sidewalk foot caught accident
The twang of an of tune banjo
And I'm not-so-gently falling.

To a place, but where?
Where is anywhere if I don't know it there?

It's like a tiny trickster, an aging tree
A simple melody, a rhyme, a tireless plea
A nothing, a something, a shallow yet endless well
A mockingbird, schadenfreude,

And once again I'm falling.
And once again I'm falling.
And I've again, I'm, I

Falling.