"Story"
Can you tell me the story?
I know it doesn't have a beginning
and you never mentioned an end
but I can't really believe
that there
ever was a playful middle
when the other two ends of that
long and heavy rope
could have been pulled taut.
I mean, really
the smell of foreign food
wafts through the window every night
how can you expect me to sleep
when there is that exotic tang
right in front of
my nose
just far enough where you pull me by a string
and I can step into a world where
everything is not the same.
Second person stories are not the same
you've got to be there
to feel there
to live there
to know there
you've got to smell t
"Dance"
Hello, there,
do you hear the music?
They're playing it in the background.
It's a slow song,
and I know how much you like those,
the dance floor is all yours.
All you've got to do is step out.
Can't you do that?
One step can't be stopped and before you know it,
there'll be another,
and one more,
and you can twirl all you want on that floor.
No,
the lights are not too bright,
and no,
they did not slick the ground.
The tile isn't slippery enough to fall
and everyone else is bound.
No,
the walls are not too close,
and no,
the patio is not too cold,
but I'll close the window for you if you want?
Why won't accept my jacket?
You just said
"Ghost Child"
I can see your blurred image now
you're on this merry-go-round
and it's spinning so fast
you just can't see the ground.
I'm sorry to say but I can't stop it
these railings are moving so quick
they look like a solid roof
and I can't quite grab ahold of it
with my little fingers.
Or, maybe if I did,
I'd just swing along
and then no one would ever be able to get off.
Do slides count?
Up, up, up,
and then all the way down
back to the ground
right where we started.
I guess they do,
they're part of this play structure that holds
such painful memories.
Not for you.
You weren't here at this age,
but I was and I can tell you that yea
"Remember"
Remember those days
where the playground school bell rang
and the children would go out to play
in the mud?
Remember those days
you don't have the memory of
where the playground school bell rang
and the child would go home to play
with the dust?
Round and round we go
drawing circles in the dust mites that
bite and bite and eat away at what once was
skin
and down and down we go
down to the basements where the lamp is
only a glow
and the pen is only a pen with ink as good
as blood
and day and day we go
where everything described was only a movie
and nothing is known
because nothing is known by that child with the dust that eats a
"Amusement Park"
How come ferris wheels can turn round
and go down
but never touch the ground
why can't I just
sweep by the trash stuffed
dirt
and breathe the air that
I carried from the clouds in
such a little car of
metal.
She says she wishes she were me
when I only wish I were simply high enough
to be able to grab a little bit of that sunshine above
and shove it into the mouths of the
meat --
let the ferris wheel carry me --
I hope for a dream that is going away too fast
and never turning back
like those go-carts that go and go but only seem
to manage the ability
to bump
one
by
one
crash into one another because there just
isn't anywh
"Imagine"
Can you imagine the darkness
and the way its brightness blinds so black
yet all you do is find that it is yet another
blindfold to wrap around your head
because thats all the darkness is--
a mask over your eyes to drain
light from the imagination and
love from the soulless and
souls from the loveless and
colours from the empty mind devoid of
little things that twitch the corners of your lips
into a little curve to compliment the little things
that are big.
So can you imagine taking that blindfold off?
Lift off its covers and just -- look.
Look for me.
Do it.
Open your eyes.
What does your imagination see?
I hope it sees the
"Stars"
Stars can churn a battle
and jump at the sweetest flight
They can see the rattle
of a thousand years of life
But I believe that only the softest melody
persuades a child to keep
That darkness is the only comfort
of a world too small to weep
Yet when we hear the lack of light
we kneel down to our knees
We sing at the silence
to a sky too large to see
While we kill at the battle field
from which the dead can breathe
For once we tumble to the ground
it doesn't matter if we're still standing
If the blood bathes our clothes
it doesn't matter if we're still clean
Since once we shut our eyes
and listen to the lullaby
It's sti
"Hello"
It was grade five when I opened the door and saw the way they all sat
lined like soldiers ready for a battle that never came
At the time I didn't realise I was not
refined and redesigned in the way that they'd all play games like
the mouse with the cat in the house, hiding under the slides
crouched and ready to live or to die, but mostly to run
run from the teeth and the claws that came with little children's fingers
because they had never learned that nails don't have to be pointed to be sharp
I was one of those who sat alone on the grass
counting the shadows that passed in the long line
of day and night and forever cycling hours
I was shoveling the pancake gently off the pan with my spatula when the idea came to me. An automatic response to my ever non-coherent thoughts, though comprehension of my mind had always been impossible. It was merely the need to fill an empty void tucked away into the bottom of my pockets that existed simply for the chance to store away answers. It was always interesting to see what others came up with when I popped that question mark into thin air, even if that question mark never normally made it past their ears.
I glanced to the left, where the little girl sat there, fiddling with her new and improved iPhone -- the latest of the entir