The Boy In The Garden

Scared to make a mistake the little boy sits in the garden. He slips socks off wrinkly little feet and rests the foot sleeves over an eggplant. He sinks his tiny toes into lush dirt twenty types of birds chirp A storm is coming-- maybe not. Maybe, just maybe I'll think some worthwhile thoughts. Not the ones that tell me watch the plays in which they play with guns or that tell me "reject any person who could possibly reject me," I like the ones that sound like fun and are also introspecting. Who plans a trip for one day with a bag packed to the brim, nowhere to stow it? Who plans to suffer and sit through supper not eat anything, who but a poet?

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I Used To Write

I used to write in scribbled words in warring fits in twitch-prodigeous nueron flits a passion mixed with madness fixed on changing my de...

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