Tuesday, May 8, 2012


I was a boy.
I paced the forest path
in the roar of grasshoppers and
the swell of summer's night;
beneath the whirring dynamo of heaven,
a carousel of light. 

At day I ran wild and sweat-slick
in the rage of mid-day sun,
myself and someone else,
and a metronomic footfall drum; 
the blue horizon calling as if
I were the only one.

Time is cruel to all but time
and scars or the scarred.
The Firmament is shattered
by a dopamine reward -
and sirens of innocence wail,
brutalized by a reason-cock. 

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