Monday, December 8, 2008

Paper Boat (old)

He reaches for my flat and thin form.
I move in shapes only he decides.
"Ow!" he cries, as I watch the blood trickle down his finger.
It is my fault he hurts.
He finishes molding me and I am a work of his art.
I am held gently in his hand as I am taken outside to the crying sky.
Down I go into the flowing gutter.
I bring him excitement as I quickly swim in the sewer.
I've heard where this leads.
To the ocean I go.

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