May 16, 2007

I am
little blossoms
into teling me that
it's ok to close up.
to sleep
in only your skin.
to grow roots
and drink decay.
to stay.
they laugh at
my swinging clock
and ask me
who's the silly one
waving false time?
And I admit
I hold
little arms skipping
in a circle chase.
a medallion of moon mockery.
frivolous as a cement rain drop.
we waver.
when all that's
is waiting
on our morning's pillow,
swirling in our tea steam.
and all to
is a dreamy
masquerade -
a shadow frock clan.
we stew
and in no
divine intention
do we have the
power to persist
mirage and
mushroom soup.
past and future tea, please.

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