Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Stolen Pants
Every day is a lazy afternoon,sun high in the sky, grass smell fresh on our skin,
belly up to the sun. Hit pause on the id-signals,
drives, biological needs, et cetera, and revel in
the sybaritic splendor of warmth, breeze,
fingers in our hair, the noise of birds in a tree,
three houses down.
If there were a way
I'd take every idle breath
of cocker spaniels.
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