The Kid Has Legs

Posted on 06 May 2010

Have I sunk so deep into this drowsy pillow’s
Aztec strategies
delivering
the most beautiful blue virgins
and their dancing never to be lovers
into the cornfield of my wrinkling elbows
so some dragon’s teeth won’t decimate
my rows of yellowing,

sublime in this cowardice
that dogs my growing deaf ears
and shades the darkening glasses I wear,

scrabbling together wealth
beyond the boldest medieval kings
(and as useful as suburban Joe’s
broken sprinkler head)

to simply rest on the bones of the bold green
that should have come?

Instead of this dry battle cry of bloodied fabric,
wasn’t a changing of the guards to have begun?

Doesn’t the ocean know, the traffic light know?
Don’t I know?