Friday, December 23, 2005

I found a poem in the closet. I wrote it with Pauls Toutonghi in high school. He is about to be a famous writer perhaps.

Here it is:

lately i stomp lightly

lying on the ground, diggin the breeze,
slipped inside out, streetlights through a window.

Butterfly net eyes, honeytear falling through,
stone offset above me.

Blink, blink, implode a smeared meadow,
and a quarter falling as I flip it.
St. Thomas with his glasses, later, much later,
took a golden negative, out came a butterfly.

Lit upon a lamppost, turned to me and said:

"Keep your eyes on the down, and the quarters in your head."

Rolled up into a caterpillar, breeze feels far gone
city flees the sun, dancing in the stonelight.

Time in a puckered garden
with stained-glass thoughts.

i found a beet today

What do you mean "perhaps"? Of course he is about to be famous. So famous.
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