Canoeing the Sandbox

A tremendously posiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii

You find it on your legs even weeks after, I'll turn the hose on, it's a dead snake over there, take it out of the plastic because we flattened its body and put it inside. It's almost transparent, like paper, it can be easily broken like a single bird's wing sitting flat on the ground like the ground itself (could've fooled me). A wind in both hands. Apples where Indiana never dissolved inside nesting birds, over trusting hands, have all new days stopped?

A t.r....r......r.....r.....r....r....r....r....r....r....r

Can anyone show me with their arms?

If you take any common household object

Put it in a blender

Obliterate it completely

Take out the peices

Arrange them in a pattern that is pleasing to the eye

You'll find what was already there

Sandbox Voyager

The man sat with his legs crossed. I guess they call that Indian Style. That's not politically correct.

He had a wooden paddle in one hand. In the other hand he held a large bag filled with supplies.

Over and over the paddle scrapes against the dirt.

He thinks he's going somewhere in his boat.

The parents tell their kids to steer clear of that playground now. The one with the sandbox man.

He's still there, with a long beard, fingernails grown long and yellow, eyes tired and old. Still on his mission. Still on his voyage.

Over and over he reaches that paddle over the edge of the sandbox to take a stroke.

As the people who walk by mumble about how this neighborhood's really gone to Hell.

Plugging their ears to block out the sound of yet another layer of wood being stripped off a very old, very worn paddle.

A man on the longest journey.