a freestyle sonnet about walking back roads and finding old litter bottles to write poems on

Meanwhile, this shiftless prole maintains his aimless stroll 
through his whole little corner of world. Acquiring 
knowledge of each asphalt or gravel foot through sole 
after sole getting grounded in steps, admiring 

all that which tendrils around me, heart pounding thumps 
on steep inclines, which are common in these Blue Ridge 
foothills. Eyes scanning to find bottle dumps 
for diamond-dimpled wino trash, left to abridge 

the decades, left behind in the woods (like I hope 
to be one day). I got a pile of found old glass 
beside the house, to scrub, paint, and kaleidoscope 
my environment. Trash (not unlike my old ass) 

finds purpose. I walk, ignoring property rights, 
enjoying the accumulated wild style sights.