Thursday, October 18, 2012

for the wilder pastures

i said a girl like that fades as quick as she smiles, exiting your mind as fast as she flirts. but george couldn't hear me as loud as her skirt, make believing she'd considered him more than the next guy with white skin, khaki pants and bad spanish; and the minute he gave her his, was the same she moved on, to some other game she's playing with eyes and the forces of attraction, some other rope she's pulling, some hope she's twisting. and i wanted to say, wise up smell the summer sun george, look to the hills, and run, for the wilder pastures no one ever takes to because you can't be certain where they roll, nor be home in time to have your hands washed for dinner, and these still have two days of color, some vendor is holding them at your car window, and the light's turning green. 

why i ran for the city i'll never know, but the inundation of curbside daisies never really feels like home, because i was once led through the wild pastures; and their is living color in that which grows; but she made back and forths as a felled flower george, like bubble wrapped plastic - ribbons and bow, with some factory written note that says i love you, but means i don't have time to; but he cashed out, and when he did, part of my soul died too, to think that i might soon; 

meanwhile the hillsides are waving, george isn't watching, and neither is worried; 

except for me.