Luke Melia


October 24, 2001

10/24/01, 12:20 am


Shadowy puddles reflect emotions
and rainstorms drown some sorrow.
Oceans beg for salty night tears
and the water shapes my years.

I wrap a towel around my mind
to keep the wind’s currents out.
Gusts whistle and stoke my fears
and the wind shapes my years.

Stop and drop and roll about.
Look up, an explosion in the air.
I light a pipe and drink some beers
and the fire shapes my years.

My knees are stained
and mud is all over my smiling face.
I’m a plant, a rock, a boy with dirty ears,
and the earth shapes my years.

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