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Willard Run
May 15, 2009
Willard run,
the seventeen
stairs fall to the songs of roosters
cracked by the hooves of horses,
lost to the days of children’s broken toys.
Down the dirt,
through the thorns,
and along the ferns;
here, abandoned projects.
Cry while you feel the dreams,
bite the pear,
drain it of what made it fresh,
the bees will bite your back
as you sting hearts around you.
Hold the rope
that docks the boat,
it’s the only seat left on the shore.
While the people drink to sleep
and forget the night before,
all you want
is to remember the years.
Willard run away.
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