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

again