We waited while the world wailed, the willows wept, and the whipmen washed their whips. Then someone spoke, the singing stopped, the soot settled soft upon the street. We bumbled about, the banned books burnt. Our backs were bent. Our babies begged for breast with broken beaks. Now how in hell in heaven hope with a hoar's head husband hacking holes in the house?
I gazed in the brook by the playground and really saw white-water rapids: I had power when I was ten.
I rubbed dandelions on my paws and I would attack like a wildcat. I stood up to invisible aliens; they held me and sucked the air out of my lungs. I walked my bike home that day. I was scared, my courage had left me. I would never stick my nose where it did not belong.
We twirled; held on tight and let the blood rush to our heads, twist and turned the tires til our noses bled. For eleven nights we would not go to bed; our parents could not wait for summer's end. Winter came and we grew up too fast; it froze our wills and haunted grownup minds. Now time finds and binds with thick red lines; every color dulled, all dreams forgot and numb. We, helpless, watch our feet stomp brothers' backs; bounding forth machines with toxic breath.
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