ripping seams

always it's us,
the rulebreakers,
troublemakers,
we carry the torches
down Frost's other path,
pleasing a few,
and incurring
most everyone's wrath;
we live over there,
on that distant edge,
hoping for someone,
anyone,
to try to talk us down
off that ledge,
just so we can frown,
say no, laugh like
an Italian clown,
and keep on,
ripping seams.



May 4, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved. Or reversed.