ss rambled

stop your growing babe / Terry don’t cry. / Speechless by default, what is left to imagine, our minds desolate with numbers and equations, the backyard’s yearly balding / ‘Mama, why do we get grey hair, and leaves get to be all pretty?’ / What’s to say that red, yellow, and orange are pretty, when green screams at us all with LIFE. NO ABSENCE. HERE. PRESENCE. / streaming down my window’s were not the tears of jesus that night, as he lie over sinners amongst sinners, what could be better? / We’re not here for you, stop preparing for eternity he whispered through the panes, right now, that’s all you got my sweet child / But who’s to trust the man in the sky more than the one who created time? / Birds get to fly, Bears get to hibernate, People abide by laws and nature, we change with the seasons, we grow with the plants, we have to force ourselves to provide purpose for one another / SINK SINK SINK / ‘Don’t tempt me to swim.’ / You see that is all Terry knew, he knew that tomorrow he would wear his red shirt because it was warmer than his blue one, his mom would pick him up because her work gave her the day off, his dad would be angry because life gave him taxes to file, and his brother would be on the phone trying to prove himself to all the others, but Miss Dawn told him different. Each recess break with runny noses, dirty knees, and 7 and a half year olds turning themselves into trucks and fairies, she planted herself. Rushed to the concrete, the only solid in sight, sank to the ground, and built herself up again by tracing the same words in the sand, but before Carter had a chance to kick up the ants with his newly torn up nike’s Terry peaked something harshly etched in brown, ‘You put to rest your hopes and dreams, and never wake them up.’/ A car next door was blasting the radio and a weary old man glowing from the passenger seat whispered,‘help me change the weather, help me change the weather, help me change the weather/ Pulling into the driveway and they dropped the mother’s day pot on the ground, dad slammed his hand in the door, and I think I lost my orange crayon /