Paint

Standard

Paint on the lawn
leading me to your house
the fake house
covered
peeling paint
pink paint
pots of paint and pain,
the strikes of rhythm drum again
and i should walk back home from your
fake
house.

Summer in a frenzy
a heatwave guided by
false light
heady
boys picking up girls like
flys swatting in the sunlight
searing sand dunes and
old desert tunes
soft, simple and stark
I should have run the
bath tub
cold, cold running water.

In the porch
illuminated by
patches of the moon
she’s consumed
by the sweet notes
keeping her alive
and shoving saltwater
out from her far off looking
eyes–
he was too good
he didn’t care
he didn’t know
he wasn’t there

paint on the lawn
glinting in the dawn
and singing
oh sweet melody
why should I care
If I wasn’t even ready?

Copyright 2014 Golden Star Poetry

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