There was a street of crocodiles
Somewhere far away
The floor was made of dark blue tiles
And everyone ate curd of whey
The plastic palm trees and electric sun
Made everything seem fake
Like in a second rate movie set
Where props would always break
The crocodiles cried a lot
They sold their tears in jars
Their tears were put in copper pots
And used as fueling for the cars
The crocodiles were all peace and love
They wore velvet on their legs
Spending the days singing Jethro Tull
Eating organic cage-free eggs
Miraculously in a day
They smoked ten pounds of ****
And soon enough they were pretty broke
Living on the street
This was the street of crocodiles
Somewhere far away
The floor was made of dark blue tiles
And everyone ate curd of whey
The plastic palm trees and electric sun
Made everything seem Fake
Like in a second rate movie set
Where props would always break
The crocodiles cried a lot
They sold their tears in jars
Their tears were put in copper pots
And used as fueling for the cars
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 7:56 AM UTC
A large red elephant jumped on the trampoline.
Somewhere in the distance a blue eyed babe cried.
Rednecks clad in Paul Bunyan shirts inhaled the fumes of their barbecues.
Moving gracefully, a trapeze dancer tip-toed across the river.
My wife slumbered on our couch,
And wind blew a kite out of my hands.
I fed a goat nectar from my hands.
A crowd encircled the trampoline.
My family purchased a new couch,
And later that day we helplessly cried.
Our wailing could not be heard across the river,
Where rednecks continued to inhale the fumes of their barbecues.
Neighbors massed to celebrate barbecues.
I looked down at my blood stained hands,
Then joined the beautiful trapeze dancer across the river.
My red elephant broke the trampoline
And we were surrounded by infinite crying.
Nobody sat on the new couch.
Many problems arrived with the new couch;
There weren’t any more barbecues,
And my teeth crunched on granola as we cried.
Silky fabric embraced my hands.
Ingrid, my wife, dies on the trampoline.
She was buried across the river.
Some guy drank all the water from the river,
And started living on our couch.
Who would have thought I met lily on the trampoline,
And who would have thought I took up barbecues.
Now I felt warmth on the back of my hand
And I no longer cried.
Only the winter wind cried,
Howling over Ingrid’s grave across the river.
I slapped an elephant carcass with my hand,
Proceeding to cook it with salt and pepper on the couch.
I bored my wife with barbecues
So she went to jump on they trampoline.
Lily died on the trampoline; I always cried.
No longer did I host barbecues, the wind continued to howl across the river.
I gutted the couch, and killed myself with the back of my hand.
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 7:43 AM UTC