lone, as a chameleon
sits silently
blue bath-rug
hair in bits
crouches on all fours like a
reformed little bullfrog

sun shines a screaming jamaica pattern through his ringlets
onto his cry-sweating forehead
he looks into it gleefully
almost able to hear his eye-bones sizzle

he grins even wider
(until)
a single drop of soapy water
rolls tentatively across his moist crown

circles into the corner of his eye

it washes any sleep from his mind
he looks away from the light and grimaces

(broken home)

03/27/2008

Author's Note: [2 of 15]

Posted on 03/27/2008
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