For best results use "Netscape".
I killed myself
with words last night
in a moment of
self-realization.
The boy I no longer knew
rolled across my page
in a blue and green
polka-dotted hurse.
Clowns threw confetti
to the crowd,
men on stilts waved
to mothers holding their
crying children,
and painted women whirled
as bow-tied bears
struggled to balance atop
silver bouncing balls.
Pony rides cost only a nickle
and cotton candy
wove its spell
through the crisp fall breeze.
The setting sun
began to haunt the horizon,
but I never said goodbye.
It is only now,
when my pen can weep,
and my eyes look kindly
upon the page,
that I realize
I've been reborn
a poet.
