Poetry Is My Protest Poem #9
A tiny universe crept into my hours.
Between a child's figurine and an old man dreaming dreams of when he was a boy.
My day unfurled between checkbooks and building blocks,
between coffee-kisses and cursive highways that lapped up the day
Between a child's figurine and an old man dreaming dreams of when he was a boy.
My day unfurled between checkbooks and building blocks,
between coffee-kisses and cursive highways that lapped up the day
The moon came out early
And I came late for dinner
Carrying a universe in my pocket
And carnations for angry rifles.
And I came late for dinner
Carrying a universe in my pocket
And carnations for angry rifles.
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