June Fourth

Through a percipitous descent

of mortar

boards

muzzle flash

lenses flicker

 

There's some stationary

in a frame

in a bony hand

 

There will be a long cloak shadow

behind the stage

on a poorly lit feild

 

I'll march on it

I'll watch cleets

beat it into tumult

I'll lay on it

I'll pick clovers

One, two, three, no

One, two, three, no

One, two three, no

Four, four leaves for

you and you and you and me

 

and everytime I smell summer

I'll think of blue, blue, blue, blue.