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.