fume-per-fume
It all began
when the alien artisan
farted
a masterpiece
substance
called
It

there was once a zealous poet
with an endless word supply
who waged an apperception war
against his very eye

the poet sought to demonstrate
to his instrument of sight
by power of articulation
the meaning of this life

trains of thought were conjured
swarms of sense made manifest
still the poems failed to capture
the essence of the mortal quest

the poet's mind was stilled in wonder
its silence cast a knowing spell
the spoken word had lost the war
the naked eye could tell

unreleased, unaimed
bow undrawn
position unassumed
target unaquired

moments repass
as we unwatch
our arrow of time
approach its mark

some make art
some make art

tummy tummy, why so mad
I gave you all the food I had

I gave you food that's super yummy
you're acting weird and kinda crummy

c'mon tummy this isn't rad
what is making you so sad

could it be the roasted cricket
but god I only barely licked it

Jesus tummy, is there a dad
I'm pretty sure there's no such lad

This little lover went on a date
This little lover stayed home
This little lover had a honey to cuddle
This little lover had none

This little lover vowed never to love
ever again
all the way home.

A baby sentence
will meet its fate

sudden death
at the hands of life

Will it reach eighteen
pass twenty ones

twenty threes
in the blink of a line
Thirty

Will it learn
to speak its name

Does it die
in its prime

Will it ever count
seven times seven

some thoughts
we think we love
were never meant
for thinking