A Less Than Graceful Change
Tired
of the city lights,
of Vampires,
of white noise impailing my window screen...
hums of cars
the bullies of my breeze.
I want my rocks back -
driveways always knew me best.
When the stone walls played
both graveyards
and secret hide-aways...
Now only boundries -
no one to claim them as anything more.
Imagine
vines held the achitecture of forts,
and my name -
whatever I carved into the swing my father made me.
A meal was a handfull of clover with my rabbit,
and "treasure"
meant paper clips nestled between the attic loorboards.
I miss the warm dense nights
dancing with violets
climbing on the family tree -
making promises like carrot cake.
of the city lights,
of Vampires,
of white noise impailing my window screen...
hums of cars
the bullies of my breeze.
I want my rocks back -
driveways always knew me best.
When the stone walls played
both graveyards
and secret hide-aways...
Now only boundries -
no one to claim them as anything more.
Imagine
vines held the achitecture of forts,
and my name -
whatever I carved into the swing my father made me.
A meal was a handfull of clover with my rabbit,
and "treasure"
meant paper clips nestled between the attic loorboards.
I miss the warm dense nights
dancing with violets
climbing on the family tree -
making promises like carrot cake.