blink. — a poem
the smell of grass
drifting through fans
on every windowsill
i’d talk like a robot
through the spinblades
as they carried the evening
from out to in a coolness
well earned after hours
in the sun’s grip
i’d lie awake then
with scraped knees
& scratched up ankles from
running through underbrush
chalk dust nestled deep
underneath my fingernails
from genius gibberscrawls
on the neighbors’ sidewalks
i’d feel the fading eyelids
of summer season &
push back the night
hoping to stay here
to pause
on the edge of eternity
on the everlasting now
& remain untouched by
time’s uncountered reach
