June 19 by The Running Son
··• kēy tǿ the cǿrner mē •··
I’ve seen you, in back of the school,
The way you move
and how your eyes map me
betrays the cruelty
you’ve absorbed, shot back,
reacted to, and attacked
as if imagined futures meant something.
Mom is air in the head, and not there.
Dad is simply unaware of air.
Air settles ahead. Any disturbance
threatens. Heaven don’t care.
Unleavened bread kept me breathing,
and air kept me
caring, this warmth maker, in his
unheavened lair, his corner.
by Jim Aldrich (:
.namaste. -• ö.tH(ink)Mÿstiç •- .namaste.