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Literature Text
The Possible Scientist
Who Reaches for a Comic Book Living
Potential grows moldy
sitting in the open
obvious and ignored.
Rust gathers from every paper being
I’ve ever seen, or drawn
They make speckled layers
covering up what might have been.
The barnacles could be plucked away
I could make their eyes shine
Bright and loving, proud eyes.
If I would just pour chemicals in a vial
not ink on a page,
But I want the air
roiling clouds to graze my skin
raindrops sliding past me
A slippery fate, destiny
Unlikely and foolish.
The right side has not decayed
It won’t wear away
only collect inches of dust
brushed off if I choose.
Though I’ll stay to the left
a train on its track
surreptitiously determined
to reach my destination.
Who Reaches for a Comic Book Living
Potential grows moldy
sitting in the open
obvious and ignored.
Rust gathers from every paper being
I’ve ever seen, or drawn
They make speckled layers
covering up what might have been.
The barnacles could be plucked away
I could make their eyes shine
Bright and loving, proud eyes.
If I would just pour chemicals in a vial
not ink on a page,
But I want the air
roiling clouds to graze my skin
raindrops sliding past me
A slippery fate, destiny
Unlikely and foolish.
The right side has not decayed
It won’t wear away
only collect inches of dust
brushed off if I choose.
Though I’ll stay to the left
a train on its track
surreptitiously determined
to reach my destination.
This is version two of a poem I wrote for a creative writing class.
© 2009 - 2024 Lecta
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