as green as limeade,
this hot grass under my feet.
i read about snow.
Basking Boscspears on the counterBasking Boscs by the-looking-glass
ripening in the sunshine
like a pod of seals
In The Moment, Stilllike the itch of butterfly wings,In The Moment, Still by the-looking-glass
if i stand still,
inspiration may land on my naked shoulders.
like the ticking of a clock,
how could i unnotice
sunlight feeding green leaves i nurtured,
dandelions growing, white in the head,
old, tall, pretty buildings,
i dreamed i was giving birth,
it was a long, difficult labour,
and the doctors said
"come back tomorrow."
maybe i will create something big and beautiful,
something perfectly dumb and cute and sweet
i can finally put my name on
A Cup Full Of Fingerprintsthe cheapest dish soapA Cup Full Of Fingerprints by the-looking-glass
smells of every orange juice box.
i clean my glass harp.
still loving youtoday, i didn't chose to be sadstill loving you by gutterbreed
lacing up my sneakers, my cement feet heavy with the probability of a bad day
i picked them up anyway and i chose to skip until the weight chipped off and the chip in my shoulder lost it's hold on my on the way out the door
i didn't chose to frown at the clouds, because they looked heavy too
and who needs somebody's frown facing you when you're already ready to break and maybe they're just rolling through to wash away last night's bad dreams and replace them with the smell of wet pavement and to make the grass a little greener for tomorrow because sorrow can't stick around when things are blooming
and your smile is sprouting through my thoughts, and sure i miss it like i miss the little crows' feet in the corners of your eyes but i'm not about to start crying unless i keep wishing you had the time to have more little birds' footprints on your face so instead i'll just smile for you while my fondness for your memory grows and the heaviness in my shoes shr