I grew as I should.
With or without the hood.
Find me robins of the earth!
Let us play, we are a house.
Although we do not know of house
We just make our mud pies.
and hope
In wicked houses made of plastic.
Or bumpers with shit on display.
Or sailors with bars in the way.
Or ketchup all splattered on my face.
Like a baskin garden all hidden away and maybe hated by fretful mothers who I despised.
(Unaware of them)
Your baby is here underneath my bed.
Did anyone ask to check?
I remember your fevered tune.
Up and down
So I will not become an orchestra
To anyone.
Or anyone soon.
But only if they know
Then of course a certain course of asking may entail.
My baby and child of the one that may wake.
Go on,
Life,
One more is one more
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