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r-barclayPoems
As a child, everything was free, real, like early spring air. Birds were infinite and could fly to heaven.   Now air is stiff wood, and birds only **** on cars. I took out the dagger to take a stab. I yawned. They fawned over the shops on Bond Street. I yawned We drank Cristal Brut. I yawned. The lights of Times Square dazzled. I yawned. The toast crumbs were ****** I yawned. The people prayed. I yawned. I asked God, “How do I settle this?” “Give me your sock,” God said. So I did. “Sever all your limbs.” So I did, one by one. God stuffed the legs, arms, and drippings into my sock, blood-soaking it. And with that cocktail sock God smacked me   and sat silent. “Now what?” God yawned.
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Jan 18, 2010
Jan 18, 2010 at 5:09 PM UTC
The Stripper
As a child, everything was free, real, like early spring air. Birds were infinite and could fly to heaven.   Now air is stiff wood, and birds only **** on cars. I took out the dagger to take a stab. I yawned. They fawned over the shops on Bond Street. I yawned We drank Cristal Brut. I yawned. The lights of Times Square dazzled. I yawned. The toast crumbs were ****** I yawned. The people prayed. I yawned. I asked God, “How do I settle this?” “Give me your sock,” God said. So I did. “Sever all your limbs.” So I did, one by one. God stuffed the legs, arms, and drippings into my sock, blood-soaking it. And with that cocktail sock God smacked me   and sat silent. “Now what?” God yawned.
Written by
r-barclay
English
Jan 18, 2010
Jan 18, 2010 at 5:09 PM UTC
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