i hid in the trees
walked over bridges
and through the fields
i remember the way
the sun hit
the concrete
and the grass
i sat on the steps
watching everybody else
playing their games
smoked a joint
by the road
with only thoughts
in my head
the seasons rolled by
like the
cars
i feel fossilized
encrusted with rust
sometimes
in the light
there's still a dim twinkle
in my stony eyes
i would like to catch
it in a jar
like a burning butterfly
and watch it die
2 comments:
For a second I thought it was too early for you to get all ambivalently nostalgic about youthful highschool days. Then I realized you're about as separated from those places as me. Just over 6 & 1/2 on my count and a little less on yours.
Otherwise, the poem catches that unedited looseness you've been talking about lately. There's a spill but no waste.
Yeah, I know as good as anyone that you hated the highschool shit. And I wouldn't say this has got a golden nostalgia glow. More like a numb look back on the neverwas. (BTW I like that phrase: "stupid enough to be satisfied.")
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