FinalsWell, it's finals week here at old UW Madison, and needless to say, I've been studying my ass off. It's time for a break, I suppose.
Crush the PetalsCrush the petals under the heel of your shoe,
as you cast the bouquet away,
silent soliloquies on t-shirts now too small,
put in brown paper bags, like the best friend that moves away,
maybe you'll never see them again,
but maybe you will, and it will be...
a life of lies and lines, stolen from poor fishermen,
who dwell in rusted out boats at the edge of the bay,
where the white mist still hides, the bright sun's rays,
little children living in box cars,
now a heart riddled with scars,
and playing with newly laid tar in the streets,
When someone leaves your life, part of you leaves with them
Start with the corners first...Building towers out of wounded clouds,
and screaming brushtrokes,
two eggs, concentric rings of white and yellow,
sit on a black cast iron frying pan,
and as they die, you read smear hands with black ink,
from the daily post, searching for what's in between the lies,
frustrated with your purchases,
they look great, and you can pay the postage, but you can't take the shipping and handling,
you keep it together, but it's difficult doing a puzzle without all the pieces,
and everyone gives you puzzle pieces, and gradually, you fill in the gaps,
until the picture on the box is completely different,
pieces with broken corners frame a violently beautiful sunburst,
