The little boy
tries to point to purpose
and drop a pin on understanding life
like catching raindrops in a bowl with holes,
a cracked clay pot, nothing is what it could hold.
In-between the purrs,
a face of fur,
the wagging grace of tails
that flip and graze his face.
Looking for an answer to land on
In a mind field of molecules
bouncing off one another like pinballs
in an arcade,
one token for a shot,
a basketball in a broken bracket.
He was once so full of why's
which slipped away and turned to sighs,
an atlas on his shoulders shrugged
as he watched the carpet dry--
the milk he spilt upon it,
shouts of dammit, illness attracted flies.
Leaning towards the sun
just like a drunk leans on a bar at night.
Hoping for an outward change,
a dormant bear awaiting spring
to go outdoors and play.
A boy who cries but sheds no tears,
a plant that's dry--I watch it die of thirst.
And all the while grasping
for poetic notions,
to say a wise thing,
wanting to be the only one
to say the best thing,
and say it first.