LITTLE BOY LOST
(after william blake)
I took the pounding of
Muhammed Ali; shoulder
to chin, to pretend it was
glee. No ice water ever
melted in my cupped hands.
I looked around, for some
referee to call time, or at
least call a doctor, but none
was ever around.
-
It felt unsound to be so
battered, and all my time
was spent in escape: legions
of ideas that scraped the very
bottoms of my barrels. Trying
to get up again hurt more
than the going down.
-
I knew they had books about
all this, but I really didn't want
to read. The young lady from
down the block kept coming
over, and we never stopped.
Smell the coffee. Smell the
flowers. Smell whatever
you want.
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