We're Only Children Ourselves

The ribbed sound of the rain on hollow bamboo,
Fascinates both of these children,
A boy and a girl,
Concealed in the elephant leaves,
Watch the shivering curtain before them unravel,
And collect in the muddy clay banks,
One of his overalls is torn,
So she gave up one of her ties to fix it,
One blonde pigtail still protruding like a limp antenna,
He says it was his birthday yesterday,
Although he's not very sure,
But it would make him nine,
Valiant and fair-skinned,
He thinks to himself,
But stays like a heart-stopped rabbit in the leaves,
Her eyes trace his back,
The lumps of his spine showing through red and white stripes,
She imagines a tiger,
Thankfully the rain hides the boy's tears,
And the birds his sobs.


Coal Burning Trenchfarers

In the middle of the earth-leeching city,
A baby boy was borne to no one in particular,
The product of a migrant with black farmer's cap,
In briefly held bond with a yellow seamstress,
He who came to be your Millard,
Was sent below the earth at nine,
To hollow and carve it out,
Like so many October pumpkins,
All his mechanisms worked,
For a time,
And you saw fit to accept him,
Entwining your futures,
And he gave you two beautiful dusty daughters,
With spirits like summer dresses,
And they had the most beautiful pairs,
Of two green eyes each,
That would soon call husbands of their own,
As your Millard ran down,
Like grinding gears,
That morning he stayed outside,
Millard, whom you came to love honestly,
And he beheld the foggy sun,
With broken eyes,
Kissed your cheek and went down,
And when the hungry mountain swallowed him whole,
His arms were not enough,
Brittle and hollow they began to pop under the weight,
Until he returned to no one in particular,
And the girls with their green eyes,
Looked up at the night sky in wonder.


I met an old Indian,
With hands that trembled,
And an uncertainty in his sleep,
He would bow his head like a priest,
But I could still see into his endlessly black eyes,
As the plane grew higher and higher,
He never said a word,
And as the sun touched his tunneled brown skin through the window,
I felt a twinge of pain that I could not name.


Where Are We?

A broken down Church sign
Reads: --After all-------------
---------------Love each other.
And it drags at my heart,
Like a child at my waistcoat,
With miniature gestures,
Inquiring as to where we are,
And I can only point,
My arm raising like a clock tower,
To point down the weakened road,
Its depressions and cracks,
But I have his hand,
And a certain absurd confidence,
That I have come to expect at times like this.


It'll all be resolved,
If I have to die to see it,
It'll all be damn well in the end,
And we'll look over the ridge
And point and laugh and smile at each other,
With sore sides we'll never get tired of it,
It just never gets used up.

Thought #891389517.B

To be together, and to be miserable, is one of the greatest things about this life. Very few experiences can match that of tandem sorrow. -bluez


You Know What? Fifth Grade Sucked

It's in sunrises,
We're trained to find hope,
And in each other,
That things are supposed to matter,
But I don't want the world,
And I don't want to float,
In the past with no mistakes,
Every kind of failure will be mine,
Before they realize,
With unacceptable furrows,
I haven't lost a thing.

Ice Chips

Whispers running through,
Your terrible blue skin,
My inadequate white lines,
And we'll swallow them separate,
Everything separates,
(Don't believe a word)


Red wine,
Sits on checkered tablecloth,
Mourning the loss,
On the trails of summer.

The Trip

It's going to be,
A very long time,
And through this desert,
Only mirages remind,
Of the water I don't have,
And what that will mean for the end.