My fall made a fortune of the alphabet

The small city trembled like a drum

Opera chants smelled like garlic

The sky looked like a clump of salt

Your secret was a gift to the tongue

The continent filled with ashes

The ink slipped into my colored tongue

The metaphor shot tomorrow into a million pieces

The flame jumped into a storm of Oklahoma stars

The crowd leaped over the fortune of gifts

In the morning my tongue swallowed my flute

Friday was born by laughing and remembering

My spitted truth made a knot in my tongue

By Luis, 6th grade

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.