A poem by Alex Doering
swimming through the July air arms outstretched waiting to trap an unknowing firefly; wind hurtling her onto the back of a T-Rex made of cotton balls; sailing on a boat that looked as if it was climbing a mountain of jagged rocks and cliffs.
She got lost when he told her "second star and straight on until morning."
and so, Time passed as cockroaches dined on sawdust.
Time did no stop at a red light or halt to a yeild sign,
and even though most will say that magic lit her eyes,
her magic was not powerful enough to stop the grain of sand from falling.
As they fell -- she twirled -- they fell -- she leaped -- they fell -- she lived -- in rhythm -- in sync, both marching on to the beat of Time's drum:
She was an orange with every juicy drop drained.strangled.squished.gutted.squeezed.torn.forced.crushed.choked.squashed.
out until one last sigh escaped
She is one more fish forgotten,
flushed down the toilet
to an infinte abyss,
and as her gravestone reads, "so it goes."