Every time I hit my heels to its sides
The horse would go cut wind and go beyond its power, even faster
I would bend forward protecting my eyes against nature: specs of
leaves, bugs
Her brown frame trotting full speed wouldn’t pause for water
Me careful holding on not to fall off thinking of the skies, the red
pinkish ones and how
how after this, I may have no one else to fly for
I just wanted to go as fast as we could
over up a hill then ease into valleys then
Home where the neighbors, all strangers, with different languages
hoping everyone understands gallop, gallop, gallop=get out the way, get out the way
The more I hit her sides, I realized we were both made of the same flesh
And that I could not control her
And before because of my ignorance, I couldn’t understand this.
She slowed down
I do not wish to be controlled she said back to me
There’s a law that goes something like:
nothing can be tamed
And that the grass is wild,
And that this grass grows wild everywhere
Unpredictable in its layout
The second part goes:
The sun shines in places we can’t see
This sky we’re under can’t be caught and observed in some jar,
can’t be manipulated into giving rain,
it expands beyond our vision wildly in every way north
in every way south
in every way—
me your horse,
am not your horse, if it weren’t for evolution of you-man
to try to control all that wanders in free and in nature,
all that is visible seems obtainable in the eyes of man-kind-less-ness
boy, the trick nature played on the both of us
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 12:28 AM UTC
on the bus I am jittery
in my room I am not free
in my room I’m in, deep in
on the bus, I focus on what
he is not saying
in my room, I build his thought
from words that don’t exist yet.
on the bus, I’m foreign
I feel separated like I’m the one going
I play
it
safe in my room.
I want to step out
I want to leave the room
when I get back on the bus.
he says nothing,
his mouth isn’t moving.
the only thing going is the bus.
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 12:34 PM UTC
there was the table
you liked. The one
we kept in my room.
we made tea on top of it
it was small
and every time
i’d ask, you’d
say no look we cant
make love on it.
what happened to that table
i miss its being in between us
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 12:38 AM UTC
where's
the man
with
the crazy pen,
why isn’t
he
writing?
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 3:54 AM UTC