Once, in an orchard, two great men, Prose and Poetry, were walking at twilight, and the golden light of the day was shimmering through sieve of leaves. Both were pacing at the same speed. They came across a wounded bird, fluttering on the pavement. Poetry stopped to see it, but Prose elided this and moved on. Poetry, taken aback, called out him and said:

Poetry:  Please unfold your identity!
Prose:   An intellectual man, very sharp at wit!
Poetry:  Add more!
Prose:   A social reformer and moralist!
Poetry:  So true! But it is only me that weeps for man, bird and beast.

Poetry picked up the bird and brought home for its treatment, and Prose continued his exercise!

i needed her
                                                             ­               
                                                                ­             so i bought her...

she was so beautiful, so moist
                                                           ­                
                                                ­                             but i ground her up...

if the police found her i be thrown in jail
                                                            ­                
                                                                ­             so i rolled her up...

but i loved her a i couldnt leave her like that
                                                            ­                
                                                                ­             so i burned her...

how could i let the smoke of her go to waste
                                                           ­                 
                                               ­                              so i inhaled...

i loved her so much
                                                            ­                
                                                                ­             my *****...

I didn't stop hurting until
I put you into poetry

We take a shortcut
through the narrow walkways
of the old village

across the cobblestones
and by the white-washed tabby wall

to the waterside where slave ships
once plied their trade

My dog lingers nose down
as if each stone has a story to tell

and ***** an ear to the wall
where the auctions were held

She looks at people differently now.

Oh, baby, don't feel bad.
You're all I've ever had,
All I will ever need.
From my depths I have been freed.