Thursday, March 29, 2012

Confetti in My Hair


The dim spring morning comes
like caesar, here to make slaves
of the dainty flowers hanging from
trees, falling with the slightest nudge,
raining down from over head,
getting caught in this carpetbagging head of mine
confetti in my hair.

now, drowse is my creativity
crawling like a riverboat
captive like a boy in love
and, in love I am
with the sky and the trees and the grass
and her lovely feet making wake
of the green fields growing,
swaying like my countenance
as her fingers wander in and out
of the maze of curl and follicle,
confetti in my hair.

I lose myself in the second hand
of my grandfather's wristwatch
the one he took off of a dead Nazi
during the war
as his fight was survival
to one day kiss the mouth
of the nation that sent him

Now, mine is syntactic
its a struggle of lettering;
she and I and we and me
and her
and I come out, ragged but true
buried in my blessing
confetti in my hair.

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