Untitled

[paperleaves]

leaving class at four forty five
I step out with my jacket
pressed onto my shoulders, swinging freely bound
by a deep maroon scarf
the cold acts as a brooch.
my nails are blue and my pens are black,
my lips are purple and my cheeks are red,
yet I stay outside, a swatch of color amongst
white, bare sketches.
little sky veins pressed across the horizon, the trees are humbly hibernating
like my words.
I pull out a cigarette
and try to light it.
click
click
click
to no avail,
the wind chilliing my bones and my books
i lay in the snow while students pass me
keys jangling and coffee dripping
some look, others fail to realize
I am freezing to death under God's white eyes
wet and wild, young and free.
toothpaste flakes on my chin, I am waiting for the freshness
of Spring to begin
the days grow long, and hard, and press
my burdens onto my shoulders, tightly bound
by hopes and regrets
the past acts as a brooch.
I am ready for winter to take me
limb by limb
snap
snap
snap
like it's taken my trees apart.

[PrinceMyshkin]

leaving class at four forty five
I step out with my jacket
pressed onto my shoulders, swinging freely bound
by a deep maroon scarf
the cold acts as a brooch.
my nails are blue and my pens are black,
my lips are purple and my cheeks are red,
yet I stay outside, a swatch of color amongst
white, bare sketches.
little sky veins pressed across the horizon, the trees are humbly hibernating
like my words.
I pull out a cigarette
and try to light it.
click
click
click
to no avail,
the wind chilliing my bones and my books
i lay in the snow while students pass me
keys jangling and coffee dripping
some look, others fail to realize
I am freezing to death under God's white eyes
wet and wild, young and free.
toothpaste flakes on my chin, I am waiting for the freshness
of Spring to begin
the days grow long, and hard, and press
my burdens onto my shoulders, tightly bound
by hopes and regrets
the past acts as a brooch.
I am ready for winter to take me
limb by limb
snap
snap
snap
like it's taken my trees apart.

How could one, reading this, be other than there with you? It seems to me that the essence of this as of many of your poems is I am alive! I am alive! How beyond terrifying that is! How beyond amazing that is! Here is a moment! Here is everything!

At the risk of butchering the whole, I'm especially taken by


wet and wild, young and free.
toothpaste flakes on my chin, I am waiting for the freshness
of Spring to begin
the days grow long, and hard, and press
my burdens onto my shoulders,

[paperleaves]

Thank you, Jer :) I wrote this lastnight and immediately posted it in dedication to you. I'm glad you enjoyed it.

[PrinceMyshkin]

Thank you, Jer :) I wrote this lastnight and immediately posted it in dedication to you. I'm glad you enjoyed it.

I don't believe I've ever had a poem dedicated to me before (though my very precociously literate oldest grandchild did dedicate a book to me) and I don't know how to respond to that other than with a desperately humble "Thank you" and I will print it out and put it up on the wall just to the left of my computer screen.

You're something else, you know?