Thursday, October 08, 2015

Middle Semester

A short mountain
of youth's Big Ideas
stacks up, physically
now here electronically
When time drains down
filling my glass balloon,
I watch empty squares
on an electronic spread
grow two digits at a time,
never three, not yet three.
Spotted, forgetful leaves fall
around students cramming to just
barely remember these timeless truths.
Trees, too, ready themselves to nakedly sleep
it off, blaming from ignorance the sun's subtle dance away
{really just the North of Earth's own shyness}
to return, when ready — like all thighs and biceps and necks
on those same students ready and game for something a
little less mindful of the passing time — for the sun's Great Return. And
there at the bottom, maybe saved for last, maybe
finally one decent enough to be perfect, and done
and gone: the Mountain climbed,
eroded by coloring pens
now absent mind

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