Those were good times– when the lights didn't buzz

overhead like horseflies tracing sightlines
across the space of a room that once was
tangibly unblemished–as the light shines:
Those were fun faces–that looked so sweaty
due to exuberance and diligence
in the fields of marigold–eyes beady,
knees needy from bending before the fence:
To beat palms against the wind is not to
keep time. Never must the master catch us
with our minds drawn black. Please, sir, do not do
this to them. They are the future. Latch us
to the moment; let it creak and scrape off
my nape, before you prove their unripe love.
This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s