children of the junkyards

Time should echo laughter, mud pies, little soldiers helpless buried half in and half out of the dirt or sand box, epic forts, rainbow sun-weathered rope ladders and tracked foot prints hurried through the house… Just because.

I have bits and pieces. Reminders. Not quite circles. left them there, as a reminder “no smoking”
Standing on the hot rocks and road bare footed awaiting. anticipating the arrival of blisters, soak up the heat. Shaping the cushion maybe of a new soul? Dunno really.
Pieces. Handles. Doors. Antibodies. Static. Bunks. The Wheel of Fortune. Meticulous and Ridiculous. Blue singlets, Peanut Butter and Constantina doors. Lungs, spatter, yoghurt. Lip, rest. Breath no more, Snore, Black and stripe bed cover restrain. Capitulate. Fail. Sigh. Jr. Dr. Sign. XXXX restore. Expel capacity breath ignore.

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