Remembering forgotten flowers,

I


hop--
skip,
and jump my way to the forefront
of the things you most desire about a young man:


Agility, confrontationalism,
and above all -
I have forgotten what else.

I'll show you the prowess of my
legs; my ability
to portray
genuine characters with a strength,
a stealth - I'll remind you of that time:



Arkansas, 1994
and the bulrushes are at war
with the cicadas and creeping violets
led astray with spring's May
beckoning the roots of weeds
to surface
where today we played a scene
amongst the sharp grasses
and lilys
with our hay-
fever
which makes us back
to your house,
your home, safe alright with our eyes
all over each other in a bother at the itching
and the bloodshot whites
in time...


... a short tome of mine. Brought me back
to when rain was dreaded, when water ruined
chalk and numbers; letters, (symbols of legs and graized black knees
with the flesh-red showing)
and our agility at moving quickly past the smoke
and cars and bastard
choking lungs our parents infested the house with.

Back to hopscotch:
The rain melted your pastel pinks
and my blues away

to another day;

not in Arkansas,

but to here,
today.

(I got a green pastel and signed
your door: Yours,
Pansy Boy)