My child, come pack your mind here
In my luggage of calm thoughts
No man is nicer than the taste of wisdom.
Puberty skittles will entice you
to let the nectarines of that ice defrost
And sip, deep, like a kilned malt
through the funnels of the soul
You’ll add mascara, who cares when you cry?
Lets take a long walk on these tiles
Feel them break and grunt
in tones of their own mother-tongue
Mouse traps, baits, and firkins of filth
Check your steps.
This is how life begins
With winter waking up in your bones
And autumn closing down chimneys of your hope
this is how life will end.
Enter this booth of life
Press these keypads,worn out to history
Dial, talk to your childhood
What becomes of a woman
When her hair lights with foils of pollen and milk.