Each mortal thing does one thing and the same: Deals out that being indoors each one dwells; Selves - goes itself; myself it speaks and spells, Crying "What I do is me: for that I came." ~G.M. Hopkins
Friday, September 22, 2006
bent
A Marvelous Roller Coaster
once flew
on a picturesque
patch of farmland
Everyone would come
from miles
(and miles) around
to ride it
(that’s what The Papers said)
until the day it
C r A s H e D
all who were on
were SnaPPeD in HalF
and DieD
(this was recreated using
Computer Animation in a
Made-For-TV-Special)
all but Three
all but Three
DeaD
(SnaPPeD in HalF,
I saw the Program)
Three from One
family, but
they were so badly Bent
no one could bear
to Look-Upon-Them
ever (ever ever Ever)
again
and so it happened
(as these things do)
they were made to
live under
a tunnel, very
full of Shadows and
dirty water
and the occasional mushroom
once, they were beautiful
(I had seen the Before Pictures)
a mother, father, and a lovely
little girl
now hiding their Bent forms
in the dirt and water
I came across them
in my wanderings, because
I had been taken
from my home
and I too,
was Abandoned
no longer Permitted to return
(not that I could remember
Where to go,
or Who to ask for,
or Why -
the Why bothered me)
I no longer
could wear shoes, no longer
was Allowed
to grow My Own Flowers
I shared their Shadows
awhile, and placed the last
of my brittle faded
bouquet within
the little bent girl’s
Matted Filthy hair
walked along the stony
road to town
and became
SomeThing Else.
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