September 13, 2015


There's an effort
while I pace these
yellow walls.
There's an ache when I tell
the snake:
"Hiss? I'm sorry, you can't
'really' fly."
I walk wooden floors
remembering when they made
my feet dance.
Kicking my soles until my
toes couldn't resist.
Happy days.
The bird in the
corner screeches
"I'm crooked! Where did
the star
by the window get off to?"
I say "Ask the Frog, he should be
King by now."

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