Treasure Island

Charles Monroe


December Kids


December children in inner city days;
sun rays refuse me over silver aviators
police are bees and we the pollen
menthol minted breath conversations are held
like infants. in metro stations and we laugh infamously
for infinite instants of misfits and bitch-fits
i traveled a distance. p.d.'s on cb's
requesting assistance.
we, December children,
filled with indifference
we've nearly accomplished the complex of Gryphons
word wheeling wizards with warm whiskey whispers
busy men take the ugliest pictures
while finding themselves in the loveliest mixtures
preaching to teachers and teaching the preachers
breaching the leaches and reaching the bleachers
pledging allegiance to speechless procedures
half of the features are having some seizures
all i remember; of children in December
P.X

Submitted: Monday, March 03, 2014
Edited: Monday, March 03, 2014

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