Sometimes, I write poems.
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
As my father set the thing up I watched,
heart set on a bike, a Mizuno catcher's mitt.
Confusion trebled with the dumping of ants.
This will teach you about industry, production.
And it did, it did that. Day after day, tunneling
against the sides, they carried. Endless lifting.
A frantic community intent on thriving thrived
under my gaze. But I hated the invisibility of
desire. The lack of leisure --
-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2011 --
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