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Little girl and a big shake (up)
So, this is the echo of a thousand miles
the thick cold sweet laughter of a shake
dripping from the ceiling, and the smiles
of a little beauty - what am I to make
of these facts? Poetry is a simple matter
of words on souls - either with careful pen
or (more often) a careless splatter
how these moments are the best of times -
how the facts of why we did not kill her dead
are the reasons more often than the rhymes
and a dozen years from now will be still unsaid
The sugars will decay into a stink of must
as her beauty grows.. in this - please.. trust.
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