Wednesday 10 October 2012

Growing up

I stepped out of the house a while,
had children, jobs, a go at life. I put on
hats that didn’t fit and never saw
my smile in a mirror.

I stepped out of the house a while
walked odorous streets in gorgeous cities, wanted
others’ tricks and baubles, picked up hanging
threads of conversation.

I stepped out of the house and found a spring
a self-announcing, giggling gush, just mad
to rise and channel. Its prankish water
wet my lips and tongue.

I looked back at the house and noticed how
a sharper light fell, with a cutting edge,
on cobwebs, dust and window smears, and how
it met the dark inside.

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