“There are some places,” said the little boy,
“that if you want to be there, you already are.”

 

He realized how long it had been
since he’d seen a hopscotch on a sidewalk
and became sad.

The two ladies walked down the street
blaming Wal-Mart.

He hated the little white room,
so clean, so orderly. 
He messed it up and hated that too.

People are walking around all the time
wondering why no one notices
how bent in the head they are.

“There’s no God,” he said,
“because I’m not dead.”

His sense of smell started coming back
but not evenly.  He could smell urine,
for instance, but not jasmine.
 

Mists swirling into mists!
This must mean something.

The pit bulls needed a god
but they didn’t really care
which is why they needed one.

This was his summer
for sitting on the porch
and drawing a glass of milk
in perspective.

They ended up raising the type of kid
they hated when they were in school.

In the end
his flesh
was eating itself.

 “I don’t put a surprise in every box,”
he said.  “I want them to be surprised.”

We’re all making it up as we go.

 How sad to think there are people who
once they’ve given a thing a name
think they’ve actually done something.