playing my heart like a lute.

i was a moody creature mulling along,
twanging chords of lonely lurking
atop my shoulders; i had no head.

i had just given it away at the State Fair
of love; i pitched my dimes away. "next."
lions of neon flashed, the road to Oz.

"try me, one tenth o' dollar." barkers bark.
"win the gal a bear, she'll love you like it.
c'mon young man. she's ye sweet heart, eh?"

chatter of squirrels in hunting season it sounded;
i was holden caulfield, 16 and in the Rye. caught.
their demands making me more intent on fleeing.

i was a country fried steak, fresh on the hoof;
already carved-broke by the Micronesian Woman,
Snake Man; three headed goat, two headed snake-albino too.

the flash was outta my dance, bare-boned we stood.
sat in the grass and counted noises with our eyes closed.
Mathis, Otis, Mitch, all scrambling for a seat in my ear.

me, flat-top and flat headed; i had hoped to find the Wizard;
i saw behind the curtin. gears were made of starving kids'
breakfasts; old women and men's supper meals, at 4:35.

so much for expectations, the world is Miss Havisham: gives/takes.
expectations: so long will i have them, keep them, curse them. allow them.
seventh grade, a never-ending, laborious trude, smiling all the way.

05/14/2010

Posted on 05/14/2010
Copyright © 2024 Charlie Morgan