This song by DCD swelled this poem up within me –
Prologue:
sitting at my desk,
Criss-cross applesauce
gasping like a dying child.
Dying to flee the corpse of a man.
I,
not a child anymore,
Who’s
imagination is a broad highway
Layered
between the wings
Of a
dragonfly
Behind
me
Stumbling
the furrows
Dust from
age trails in the eddies
It is
I, running like a child
Wagon
wheels gargle and giggle
Ungreased,
unglued
Another
child watches, and watches
Fingering 99 pebbles in her pocket
Dandelions
blink awake
From
dust sewn,
Sun
pinched wishes
Lost lashes
behind me
We,
not children,
Chase
circles into soil
Tightening
the noose
Around
the son of the father.
Dragonflies
sip
Morning
reflections
From
a pond surface
My highway's washed away.
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