the world is too big for me to lie,
and if you think i lie,
then i'm sure le petit prince
met you on one of the planets journeyed to.*

or poetry on the internet, are we all neither
mammals nor lizards or birds to be force-fed
this ****? i hate turkeys with stomachs
stitched up for bulimia-ready
augmentation...
here's a guitar... twang twang twang
three string base rhythm...
here's my voice...  now my voice
i'll keep personal to be in kinship
with an acorn fall...
and i too might taste the devolved
loved-up tongue which
once would speak... abbreviating
the excess, as neither necessary or expected,
but still loved-up, instilled in loving...
but for now... not so much...
more for the gallery of superficiality of
sticks and called bulbing limbs of beauty:
where once the fashion designer
now a dietitian... once colour and cut
now the calorie intake and burn-off...
as one limbo headed lamb of the catwalk
sat on my knee and inquired a normal talk
while i joked she was always to be a welcome elf
of our twinned lost appetite,
should the hungry child keep asking for toys
rather than a bacon bun.