takes nap in a park, 2003

climbs hillside to lay in green green fields beneath great barren oaks as seasons make rust of living things hears barren leaves crunch beneath my feet: dead, dying, reborn to dirt as fertilizer for the new world and more likens grass textures to a woman's touch on the back of your neck or snowflakes falling in your hair and just as good day grows flexing perfect as time-passages and wakes to dreams more precious than golddust to rushers in their day finds happiness in the watching of great long branches stretch the park before closing eyes to rebuild it, a painted mural in my mind on the innerside of a forehead years in the making and now will never be again accept as yesterday afternoon or last month last year was beautiful i'll say and it'll be true but not as clear as now.

2003-12-09 | 4:08 p.m.
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