Write your name in the dirt
Cover it back up
What does the worm say your name should be
if not what it already sounds like?
Not as scary as things are made out to be
Doors left open
Stay open
Not like a stick holding up a crate
to draw in the eyed
Crap being turned out by hacks
Not for kids anymore
Leave it to the professionals
Those that may not have kids or may have just entered
the spring of their fertile terrain
There among the lilted leaves
further down the path
Playful sounds that keep us free
Free from knowing about what horror
spreads its meaty carcass across
the silver screen
Maybe looking for tadpoles
In the reservoir of the neighborhood's young
Central to their separate domiciles
Those huts that breathe like small welted skins
Blistered from excitement
And with any luck at all
The ones that learn to skip
With also learn to fall
Into each others arms
In spite of what voices the worms may deem
as necessary to summon
--
10.28.09
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