Wednesday, February 3, 2010


Today was for finding old finds
kiddy collectibles.
A new-found currency filling my pockets
the wealth of naivete can't feed me
moisten this arid mouth.

Notes on arrested development
and other trinkets of twine
dead leaves
imperfect paintings
evidence of a life nonexistent.

For in me
je suis la boheme
Whitman's pioneer
mammal on the plain
Lolita to few.

An insulated menagerie
unwanted portent
and a forgotten road.
Weighing heavy on my soul
the chains of youth.

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