Friday, July 04, 2014

Eyes Of a Little.

The eyes of the fire is not the fire
it burns inside of me, charring my lungs and heart.
I have found a better way of dealing with this.
I have found different things to think about.
This life is not my life.  It is someone else's.
My life is something more important than life;
the tree is growing in the backyard.
Why is life so hard?  I try and I try and I just can't
seem to make it work.  Every little thing is difficult
for me.  It's not just what I see, but what I
experience as well.  So as far as I can tell,
this life is fit for me.  I dream little dreams.  I take
books wherever I go, especially at the library
where the lines are slow.  Don't go past go.
Give me five hundred dollars, in tens and ones.
I look like I need a shower.  My mother comes home
in three days.  I haven't seen her in ages.  Where I am
is where I ought to be, it's what I want to become
that's inside of me like a light bulb going off.  I grow and I
grow just like a little tree.  The dinosaurs have come

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