they pay to kiss your feet

since there's no one else around, we let our hair grow long and forget all we used to know. then our skin gets thicker from living out in the snow.

Saturday, March 17, 2012

the tip.

there is a song
on the tip
my tongue.

there is a poem
on the tip
of my fingers.

there is a dream
on the tip
of my mind.

but i
don't know
how to find

i walk and notice
the flowers
and the green
buds -
(too early)
on trees.

i recline
on brick
and feel
the coolness
left over from
and the spring
that forgot
to stay.

i look
at the dog
in the yard that
already needs
be cut
and remember last year
when the grass
was still covered
snowy white.

i notice the air
that smells thick
like barbecue
and bonfires
and august.

but it's only march
and my
legs feel naked
in shorts.


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