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The Pen is Mightier than the Sword

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Posted

It’s time to write right

In four corners until I fall

into a manhole,

emerge with two kids, and a fish, waiting

until God decides to

Beam me up!

And I’m thinking

“Now I’m finally getting somewhere!”

 

On my way up I saw

Satan in a helicopter

who gave me the finger-wag

And a smile, so I shrugged

and the whole world fell

with my shoulders.

 

When the world went to hell

with me, I thought I could do

no harm by asking

“Are there clouds in hell?”

So Satan called the whole thing off.

In thanks for the borrowed thought

I renamed

My fish, Rufus.

 

When I got back in

town the coffee shops had

spilled, so the streets

Were a slip-n-slide of beige

Sugar water.

Those who were wandering

At the time, got lost trying

to slide home, since for so long

It had been gray.

 

But see, I knew, because,

as Brooke Sorber taught me

In 9th grade,

gray and brown

Do not go together.

 

Having dived off of that faux-pas

It was just Rufus and I,

swimming in the only

clean puddle.

 

Zero gravity was fun until we got

bored and pulled

the flusher.

We thought we’d be sucked into

Jupiter’s rings, but we didn’t have that

kind of money, so what else

could we do, but drink our feet

back to the ground.

Our runoff flows into others’

pools of thought.

 

That is to say,

thought poured in a container

that’s empty.

Not thought leaking

out of a container

that’s broken.

 

“But some of our greatest

Ideas come from broken people!”

 

“Listen, sweethard, you can’t

house a school of fish

in a soup bowl.

Let’s get you that pet

snail you came in for.”

 

You, on the other hand,

parachuted into my back

-yard where I go to run

a way from myself; you

told me you trusted

me, just to see

the look in my eyes as I

hiccoughed dandelions.

 

Your inner child shared secrets

with my inner child,

and as we wished away

my disbelief,

we also planted future

weeds in our bed of roses.

 

But maybe after a while

it would be the roses

that were out

of place, so then we could

take a Polaroid,

mail it to Webster and change

the meaning of life.

 

-Icarus

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