Wednesday, June 12, 2013

Dear Funeral Processions of the Future...

You broke my eyelash
breaks my beak
utters to my teeth,
"You're a black sheep."
Beep beep beep
in my ear
sheds of tear
crescent moon bare.

Too see this now
would be too deep
in all is succulent
inside tumors we trip
to me there is money
on moon's surface far,
yet the heart of rich blood
leaves me to mercy for
clot the veins
part away the sarcasm
and join an occult punk rock
band that bakes bread
and marvels ceramics
redunduncy to become
a pitcher or a vase.

Interpret the mold,
release the spores,
acquire salty spices from
the North Atlantic shore!

No comments:

Post a Comment