this was when my world began to burn into
my own, to lose itself within what it couldn't say
in the minutes between all of the momentous
mind-follied mind-reactions that we pulled that day
from the little-baby baby-thoughts that went
along with us within ourselves, muling our weight,
the end of my world was angerment
it was the moment when i stood and stayed
and stared and saw the my range of wonderment
returned into itself as a mood, candied
and raw, molten and melted, caged with fonder
memories of the other year's yearly memories.
day by day until no longer were there weeks in
our percepts, but ounces of tomorrows laying
in a blackened field of browning mushkins.
they were mushkins they; they were not they
but one, always one, a smallened hint
of adolescence in what will always be a babied
form-thought, held in what--for us--just wasn't
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1 comment:
I can't tell if you are counting syllables or not. The line breaks don't seem to follow any logic, except that you would run out of space without them.
E
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