June 16, 2011

wooden phone booths and my inner superman

cause you knew...

 that all the sunshine
in a bottle grin
goes home and in 
when the stone throws an end,
anxious waiting
back-seat arrival bends time 
and the nearest exit smells 
public narcissism tells
that urinating a win 
with what i really want
is a sin
is an etch-a-sketch memory implant
is nothing too near
where i fear unlocking me
in puddled mud or hived bee
or in all the dumb luck tides
i choose to see
blindly carrying
eggs and roots cracking
where concrete
at my feet
wait for chalk
and the wind
that carves ghosts
on what i walk
kneeling when i begin
trying towards love
towards prayer
towards home

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