We live on small golf courses
surrounded by the hushed admiration of whispering crowds.
Summer smells like exhaust fumes and french fries.
We’re sweet. We sweat sugar and grease.
Flesh is forced purple between
finger and thumb.
Pleasure’s filleted and fed on tiny
forks.
A thousand strings tied to
a crowd of balloons a giant
planet with a thousand moons.
We see you lit up and we look.
5 responses so far ↓
dana // September 18, 2008 at 11:51 pm |
Lovely.
nathan1313 // September 19, 2008 at 12:16 am |
Wow Thanks Dana. This is an older one and I’m glad you looked it up.
dana // September 19, 2008 at 1:33 am |
I am reading your whole site.
nathan1313 // September 19, 2008 at 1:41 am |
Really? The whole thing? Thank you Dana. I hope you don’t end up too depressed.
dana // September 19, 2008 at 3:27 am |
Humbled. Not depressed.