Hop-scotching humanity

December 25, 2009

Sister, pass the salt.

A rock, a tithe: near-sighted time,

a 12-hour span.

The sweet granite curls back, like a lily.

And little-light devils…

of lilliputian descent

(over-hyped and unrealized)

leap from the fold.

Because white longs to be dark, and, well, you know.

And the grey will never linger,

and the extremities (+/-)  sing sirens

of possibilities, rendered.

And these grey urbanities loom, stoic

made lighter by the hop-scotching evil-doers,

gay, made of peace.

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