When I stacked Bugles on fingertips

Stephen M. James — Mon, 30 Nov -0001 00:00:00 +0000

When I stacked Bugles on fingertips,
bounding on beds throwing fits,
birthdays were for me with presents not weapons
against demons, how fulfilling was fun? back then
when I played to play–for I must–
’till time was told by dusk,
when chimney smoke and riding bikes were fall,
no note of the girls dressed half as tall,
before I knew what all my parts where suppose to do
and realized I could easily live in a rue,
before wrist watches rubbed my thigh
and never took the first reply to my “Why?”

the poetry knook :: the poetry of stephen m. james :: indianapolis, indiana » demons

When I stacked Bugles on fingertips