Maybe posting old writing will get the gears going.
new time
step by
step over
land
marks places &
a time
when
making our way
through
a man
made
path
cracked concrete
steps
left
right
until we reach
a grove nestled next
to a ship
of know-
ledge over
a fallen tree
trunk where dirt
has collected
days
weeks have matured
to months, hand in hand-
some lengths of time
january leaps over
only to march
through showers
and may flowers bloom
but are forgotten
underfoot
petals are
crushed thinking
they love me and erring
they love me not
& only leaves
crackle under flip
flops an occasional high
heel
and the dirt
is unforgiving with holes
branches stretched to
far places
and a hand
or a bird
or rain
or time
has broken little
wooden arms
standing in
piece by piece
a silence
conducts a song
less beauty
that seems to tune
out the thoughts of others under
standing seems long
gone
day to
day today
often feels
like the age
of the rebel
with
out a cause without
a rebellion
that now lets
us walk
back & forth
1 comment:
on weekdays i get to read this:
"feeling deflated,
i walk up
and
down
the streets, were golden in my dream
and every step left me
feeling
guilty, wishing that the soles
would leave
no mark."
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