poetry texts, poem archive at plagiarist.com

  Out of nothing there comes a time called childhood, which 
is simply a path leading through an archway called 
adolescence. A small town there, past the arch called youth.
  Soon, down the road, where one almost misses the life 
lived beyond the flower, is a small shack labeled, you.
  And it is here the future lives in the several postures of 
arm on windowsill, cheek on this; elbows on knees, face in 
the hands; sometimes the head thrown back, eyes staring into 
the ceiling . . . This into nothing down the long day's arc . . .  

Added: 18 Feb 2002 | Last Read: 4 Sep 2026 1:46 AM | Viewed: 6478 times

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