Poetica Spontenaium 5.1.02
Poetica Spontenaium : 5.1.02
Was it so wrong
that when I was small
I’d trip off my shoes
and toes dip in oily puddles
thinking perhaps
with those rainbows
sliding slippery and sleek
sworling magnificently within oceans
captured in potholes
that I could be something
more other than the odd creature
with cracked fingernails
and freckles
In the summer time
I fought courageously with a golden lasso
Magnificent with my whopper crown
against the daunting sprinkler monsters that threatened to overtake my domain.
About 200 square feet of prickly kentucky bluegrass,
curbed by a garden that smelled of june cucumbers and potent peppers.
The neighbor boy pointed at me, guffawing from his side of the fence
I lost too easily and didn’t get enough sunshine that year.
Scouring layers of skin until the bathwater greyed
Umma made me believe that I too, were
something dull, chafey
That maybe, just maybe
with enough friction and soap
I could at least be presentable.
The mirror was unkind. Much like truth.
But in those slick puddles, I could believe otherwise.
(this is totally unfinished and fretfully rough but i like a few of the rambling phrases in here…)
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