Deal
Give me back the breathless, fertile body of my virginity.
Give me back days of ant watching,
toe wiggling,
and grass chewing.
Give me back little frogs in the back ditch,
the smell of bicycle chain grease,
and scabby, tanned little knees.
Better yet,
Give me back a mind wrought from storytelling,
and weather;
rock, and bone.
Give me back bear grease,
stone tools,
and river baths.
Give me back the simplicity of the rut,
the sturdiness of hooves,
the warmth of thick fur.
Give me back my place in the net of the world,
and I swear I'll hand over my plastics,
my petrol
and concrete.
I'll willingly surrender my cynicism,
my reticence,
and my precious restraint.
12/05
2 comments:
Pretty cool.
I actually think 98.7% of all poetry is pretentious dreck, but that was pretty good.
It's definitely hard to please nowadays with poetry. It's like music for musicians, almost the only people really into it are poets.
Thanks for the comment :-)
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