francis-scudellariWhisper

American
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This crime more ancient than the mariner'sAlbert Ross was at a loss. / He couldn't gloss / over the dull fact hanging
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4.5k
Bunny swallows owlInside the bunny suit / my ears are still small / and round, and percussive
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TrashGun metal gray, / this pigeon grasps / at current strung black
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Jurt, she“Jurt,” she / curtly spurts out / and stops
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PickledPickled on quixotic tonics / he strives for a polyglot's poise, / balancing plaster peas
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Degradation (and uplift) of advancing technologyIt has every right to bare / this clenched fist of a grudge / embittered by techno-Jovian
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Mix me a fixer upperHe's part artist, part alchemist, / but a full-on con, self-professed with post- / graduate degrees in mixology
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Impure ImaginationGene Wilder's ***** Wonka* once asked me / to step into a world / of pure imagination
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Parable of incomparable talentswhen I go / it will be / impossibly late
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2.1k
In the minute coming of His second, all hours turn to duskWho’s to say how / He might come back for a second / inhumanely heaped-up helping,
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2.1k
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