skip to main | skip to sidebar

Short Face Bear

Mayor of the Second Grade.

Sunday, March 1, 2009

B.


Like thunder, like the laughing of children,
we rolled down grass hill, the whiskey,
the cold, numbing our skin to the burs
that clung to our palms and fingers.

Lie down in gravel roads.
Moon illuminate our happy scratches.

We are in the club
of us.

Forever, you remind me,
put body to grass,
roll down hills.
Posted by milk the old clown at 3:55 PM

No comments:

Post a Comment

Newer Post Older Post Home
Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)

Blog Archive

  • ►  2012 (7)
    • ►  March (7)
  • ►  2011 (4)
    • ►  December (1)
    • ►  October (1)
    • ►  September (1)
    • ►  August (1)
  • ►  2010 (19)
    • ►  September (1)
    • ►  July (2)
    • ►  June (5)
    • ►  May (3)
    • ►  April (2)
    • ►  March (2)
    • ►  February (2)
    • ►  January (2)
  • ▼  2009 (50)
    • ►  December (1)
    • ►  November (4)
    • ►  October (2)
    • ►  September (1)
    • ►  August (3)
    • ►  July (4)
    • ►  June (2)
    • ►  May (5)
    • ►  April (5)
    • ▼  March (12)
      • Little bit.
      • Sometimes more often.
      • I.
      • Osh Kosh.
      • Goodnight, little girls.
      • Sunset.
      • Sunrise.
      • And night.
      • Plans for the day.
      • N.
      • Okay.
      • B.
    • ►  February (8)
    • ►  January (3)
  • ►  2008 (14)
    • ►  December (3)
    • ►  November (3)
    • ►  October (6)
    • ►  September (2)

Friends

  • milk: flickr
  • the metric ruler
  • flickr: jiminy crow

About Me

My photo
milk the old clown
View my complete profile