Tuesday, August 24, 2010

circular.

a-top a ferris wheel,
i'm only as good as someone else's words
as i have none to say about what lies
beneath the sand or how far
the sunset really goes.
suspended,
i let the salty air embrace me like a
new lover,
though i've danced with it
as a child in weekday-less
summers,
hair still pig-tailed,
skin flushed and sticky,
before i knew about the drink,
before i knew about anything at all.

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