i became a stutterer while in my glee;
i, i, i'd never get to read all the good books,
and that i'd never have to read the bad ones.
there's those books on my office book-shelf, i want
others to see and think i've read them all.

it was a tall evening, stood motionless; no proof
that morning was coming, the cock crowed a sunrise.
headlights: a metaphor for life's coming and going,
to places they didn't want to be going to or from.
thinking, my lips part, i's a sailor's rum bottle neck.

i know this merry-go-round has many brass rings;
on T.V. the president gave the state of the union;
half the union on the left, half the union on the right.
separated only by their mutual distrust, displeasures.
as teachers teach only what it is that they know.

finally, morning crawls out of it's broken, busted shell;
we start looking for coins to jangle--estimate our worth.
the first day of school the teacher lies to one and all:
"says she loves us all the same." thoughts of home: abuzz.
shattered rainbow shards are all some kids get for Christmas.

05/21/2010

Posted on 05/21/2010
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