playing;
that's what it comes to
that's all they say it was.
golden boy meets silly girl
and he somehow took notice
of her smile and
of the sparkle in her cheek
he liked it-
but he began to act-
like the pink was in her eye.
then the girl was sad and still silly
so when he would send a letter,
she would send two,
and then
nothing would come.
so buried inside her sand castle
digging-
she went against the grain(s).
of time.
and he would wax poetic (in other girl's ears); while he burned
both ends
-where did she go?
he found her underneath the tree
nose in a book, he didn't write
he writhed, while the branches shook
his body became windy and
he wrapped around the tree-
he pushed her back down
into an earth(worm's). home.
--
she's such a silly cynic
center stage;
singing songs about a
golden ghost-
and his smutty, smelted heart.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Reach for the clouds. . .
Tickle your toes. . .
-
nipped at the ankles which is how I wander through life sometimes I must be pushed through a door finally opened after years of knock...
-
Another Indian woman living on our block has hair swept back and braided has jeweled toes, is in all yellow traditional regalia, and walks w...
-
sex object. not afraid of the words. I've used many objects for the sake of sex. in fact my body has been pretty disposable- I don't...
-
driving home from the farmer's market- I can't see anything- through this storm- I come home to sleep- with you-rest in your arms fu...
-
Under a blanket it was at high altitudes in love or nauseous? I once held his hand his touch was so soothing-but with a lion's face. and...
-
as I left the waterfront and I climbed up the sandy stair as always his brothers were first; to greet me. I've had past dealings with th...
-
Reminder "You do not seem to understand," they'd say "That rivers are wide, and are not so easily crossed, we fear, they ...
-
Private Edgar Perry for Edgar Allen Poe I reported for duty, a Bostonian, surly, moody, unsteady. Twenty and two, not eighteen, Yes, twenty ...
-
in August for John Keats I didn't die unrequited. I took a wife in August. My wife was wearing silky white shoulders holding out her bon...
-
The Anchor for Joel When love embarks, with its generating propellers slicing through the interminable oceans of imperfection that are, for ...
No comments:
Post a Comment