a trike motored by size-1 feet
forges puddles spring
has pissed in its path
after gulping winter in sooty shards
the street is dull and soft clay
and i don't know where the dirt came from
everything is 1 color from 5 to 6
they holler and i don't know any kids
i talk to them like they are waiting to be adults
like i have gone back in time
& met my mother & father in miniature
i treat them like commanding officers
when i have joined the army in a dream
& blanked on all protocol
light in so little armor
the day rolodexes & catches its finger in the Gs
& ladles the blood out into storage
for tomorrow or saturday
No comments:
Post a Comment