The Clock and the Fountain

August 19, 2009

You can never be sure
Of the light that
Glints off
old rings
and gold wings
of silver,

hanging behind
faded suits
On a wooden hanger.
The sidewalk light
Hides on some
Chosen dust on the floor.

Too many times
I’ve kicked down the door,
found a jar of fireflies,
and just a diamond of mirrors.

So I throw on jacket of old flesh,
wings on the thres-
hold of seeing.
Being usually is the word
That lets me soar free.
I’m sorry I’m not a sorry story

of chasing the biggest cloud.
The biggest cloud came to me.

Mountains are just
a piece of key
lime pie.

See time fly
A clock’s wings and the fountain in the sky


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