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Mar 2021
from its underbelly
my fingers traced infinitely like ants
climbing a castle
the stony crevices were
indicative of something provocative
of peacock flume
of simple reason

the dorsal side was too primal
parroting the same story
the same swollen shell

with aching speed
painstaking minds
spend 10 maybe 15
seconds

the jungle gym swallows
little children whole
and their little hearts too
while under trapeze
four legs fall in succession a hundred years old

pink paws don’t prance
after too many hops on horns
too many nights in cold blood

in the essence of feral flowers
******* roam freely
but the tortoise understood
yet I was the hare



<.> written feb16.2016
Written by
mothwasher
57
 
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