i remember being sad
about the pigeons
the passenger pigeons
who are gone now
all their little souls
wingless and running
in a place
that they don't understand
_________________________________
poems are pebbles
stones that i find throughout the day
and put in my pocket
hot stones
cold stones
sharp stones
and soft stones, too
stones without souls
and stones who are happy
frustrated stones
mongolian throat singing stones
misunderstood stones
and stoned stones
my pockets are very heavy
and my hands don't fit
because there is
too much beauty
in there.
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1 comment:
I think I might use your stones poem to advertise my hot stone massage :) Dad would be so proud, he loved moving my boxes of stones to madison... lol
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