Wild eyed, dark faced boys.
The kind of children not born,
but pressed from murmurs.
Every morning
on the way to school
I saw them,
just beyond the play yard,
in the woods, smearing
in and out of trees,
slowly, loyally,
collecting the sap
of desire.
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 11:00 PM UTC
Wild eyed, dark faced boys.
The kind of children not born,
but pressed from murmurs.
Every morning
on the way to school
I saw them,
just beyond the play yard,
in the woods, smearing
in and out of trees,
slowly, loyally,
collecting the sap
of desire.
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