Eleven Summer Salts
Stapled hallways packed with lines crooked forming
Flush red and sweet saline tells of exertions
Recessed, distressed new minds & bodies working
Lead press passes portals to other stages.
Glancing back on final weeks of big August sun
Residue of freedom wasted in repose
Pours rich off the thin skin, scabs, and fetored hair
All-consumed consuming the tips of clipped wings.
Paper blank waits to join the digesting feast
Made to still, they make lines from ranging thought
Pure and filthy bind into concrete words
Ink-scented or graphite hard, the paper yields.
Numbering success and valuing process
Leaders lead through portal stages and scissors
Clipping tips to feed minds and tired bodies
Stapling the bound result to hallway walls.
Loving process sees the furnace sun dying
Neat pigeonholes wait for well-grounded thinkers
Papering their box and walls, more freedom sworn
Weekly to other marked paper and stages made.
A change in nest makes for less rest to work through
Stapled walls fall to bannered walks and members
So savvy saunters to cafetorium
Still in lines, work scrutinized by cutting peers.
Essays lay claim to time, fighting chemistry
Stapled paper to page, making hand held walls
Blurring by the passage of summer suns flight
New flush stages give the sense of moving still.
The light this season seems so bright and fleeting
Well-fed, grown over the edge of the paper
Words so known they find themselves, freeing up hands
Clipped and groomed, the members strut like proud pages.
Summer work becomes the harvest of the year
Trimmed and shaped, the bonsai minds forget flying
Waste paper crumpled and made to fly in wads
Freedom is measured in moments caught unseen.
Flightless flapping on asphalt seems so silly
Paper earned and traded for paper to move
Lettering worn on garb meant to show freedom
Tastes change from wingtips to hearts, meat, and escape.
Last year and summer here to preen and fall alone
Unaware, the flightless watch the jumping games
And spend the best last days not caring toward ground
The courses set already before they knew.
Lines form without cutting, order decided
Jesses cut and paper traded for their time
Bounded in full paper, soured summer past
So undone the trail of tips and lessons learned.
Eleven Summer Salts