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Submitted on
June 1, 2013
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Remember that little human 
boy who couldn't read aloud - 
who couldn't hold a pen
because his slick corn oil skin
kept sliding past itself?

Boy, oh, boy.

And he was born a hundred
years too late for his cowboy
dreams. He rides herd on the 
maybes and the somedays.

He sang a knife song - one
that sliced up the rigid spines
of teachers and parents alike
and parted them before him
like God-spoken seas.
Deft elision somewhere between
his teeth and tongue, lyrical, his
words in other men's mouths.

Knife song honed with lime,
polished with manteca.
.
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:iconlancelotprice:
LancelotPrice Featured By Owner Jun 3, 2013
"He rides herd on the maybes and the somedays." Yep, you got me. Now if I could become the breaker of rigid backs and rulemakers.
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:iconquiestinliteris:
QuiEstInLiteris Featured By Owner Jun 3, 2013  Professional Writer
Well, I certainly wish you luck. ;D
Stick it to the Man, my friend!
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:iconlancelotprice:
LancelotPrice Featured By Owner Jun 3, 2013
Not much luck there; they tend to outnumber you bigtime. And they're the ones setting policy.
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:iconthetaoofchaos:
thetaoofchaos Featured By Owner Jun 2, 2013   Writer
Deft elision somewhere between
his teeth and tongue


magnificent line.
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:iconquiestinliteris:
QuiEstInLiteris Featured By Owner Jun 2, 2013  Professional Writer
<3 Thanks!
I just desperately needed to use the word elision somewhere. :B
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:iconlancelotprice:
LancelotPrice Featured By Owner Jun 3, 2013
:)
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