Sep 2014
Prologue:
sitting at my desk,
Criss-cross applesauce
gasping like a dying child.
Dying to flee the corpse of a man.
I, not a child anymore,
Whose imagination is a broad highway
Layered between the wings
Of a dragonfly
Behind me
Stumbling the furrows
Dust from age trails in the eddies
It is I, running like a child
Wagon wheels gargle and giggle
Ungreased, unglued
Another child watches, and watches
******* 99 pebbles in her pocket
Dandelions blink awake
From dust sewn,
Sun pinched wishes
Lost lashes behind me
We, not children,
Chase circles into soil
Tightening the noose
Around the son of the father
Dragonflies sip
Morning reflections
From a pond surface
My highway’s washed away.
sitting at my desk,
Criss-cross applesauce
gasping like a dying child.
Dying to flee the corpse of a man.
I, not a child anymore,
Whose imagination is a broad highway
Layered between the wings
Of a dragonfly
Behind me
Stumbling the furrows
Dust from age trails in the eddies
It is I, running like a child
Wagon wheels gargle and giggle
Ungreased, unglued
Another child watches, and watches
******* 99 pebbles in her pocket
Dandelions blink awake
From dust sewn,
Sun pinched wishes
Lost lashes behind me
We, not children,
Chase circles into soil
Tightening the noose
Around the son of the father
Dragonflies sip
Morning reflections
From a pond surface
My highway’s washed away.
Getting older; it's not a joke, and for love we are always falling this way... annnnd that way. In addition to the throbbing of a bleeding heart, there is a wisdom to being alive and a gracefulness to the decomposition of our animation.
In my quest for understanding my purpose in life, I am constantly interrupted by the wonder of what, in the meanwhile, I am to do in it.
In my quest for understanding my purpose in life, I am constantly interrupted by the wonder of what, in the meanwhile, I am to do in it.
