finding a lost item, i pocket it
and run rapidly to the next block;
carrying my booty and my worries
into the horseshoe of oblivion.

making all the tomorrows accept me,
cajole me to keep my nose grinding;
before long, an ice age perhaps two,
i'll be a wildebeast, pig, human?

dancing once again across the knee
of some grandpa, the lap of a mama;
mayhaps i'll be a man from Beijing
daring not to utter what i think.

09/17/2008

Posted on 09/17/2008
Copyright © 2026 Charlie Morgan