Tuesday, January 4, 2011


Little Man

I miss you, Little Man
For the first time
From thousands of layers beneath the dusty
Old news papers,
You found an image of me
Waiving at the sunrise
With the smile you sensed from the look of my back
You dig me up and clipped the picture on your chest
Like a handkerchief
I lay and rest

I miss you, Little Man
For three and a half years
From one of a twenty-four drawings
You found the picture of me
At the edge of a cliff ready to
dive into the deep blue sky
With the smile you have
You pulled me up and framed me underneath the
icy water
I seized and cried

I miss you, Little Man
For maybe forty-five days
From a dream and another
You found a scene of me
In the subway with stairs like ten floors high
Passing through the nervous crowd
You lifted me up and set me
at a table with a pencil
I panicked and got hypnotized

I miss you, Little Man
For twenty-four hours
From a north east block to a south east corner
You found a wheel of my bicycle
nailing to the eight inch snow
With the rest of the red Nishiki
I hid myself back to where I did not recognize

I don't know, Little Man
For thirty minutes
From a table with three plus two and one occupied
You did not find me with the strength that I prepared to learn

Because I had already rotted like a cabbage.


I know, Little Man
A rotted cabbage should believe that beautiful things
will still happen to itself---

A Little Man with a beautiful rotted cabbage.

Monday, January 3, 2011