It’s gotten too heavy, child.
Much too much
for your weakened knees,
your delicate wrists.
You’ll never be a dancer
or a poet. A singer, a lover,
a sister, or the President:
Baby Boomer lies. Baby,
we're going nowhere
and it’s heavy.
Heavy like your breathing,
heavy and full
like your blue moon eyes.
Sep 21, 2011
Sep 21, 2011 at 5:08 AM UTC
It’s gotten too heavy, child.
Much too much
for your weakened knees,
your delicate wrists.
You’ll never be a dancer
or a poet. A singer, a lover,
a sister, or the President:
Baby Boomer lies. Baby,
we're going nowhere
and it’s heavy.
Heavy like your breathing,
heavy and full
like your blue moon eyes.
