"inspected" poems
It's that moment
when the pieces
of the puzzle
all combine.
And you see a
glorious picture
that you doubted
that you'd find.
And then after
when the pieces
are inspected
each with care.
You see purpose
and see meaning
each too valuable
to spare.
Aug 15, 2019
Aug 15, 2019 at 12:37 AM UTC
Started walking along the path
Where life was leading me
Towards a destination chosen
Not chosen by me
But was willingly following
To a predefined destination
Then I came along a bench
Weary I was travelling
The bench gave me respite
From the grueling march
I inspected the torn soles
As the pebbles were hurting my feet
Bleeding profusely
I thanked the bench
Where I could now rest for the night
Lying on my back
I connected the dots on the night canopy
Slumber took over
Dreams of a new road, I could see
Sleeping off the weariness
I woke up to a new day
The bench which taught me to wait
Another destination chosen by me
Clouds have cleared away
I knew the path to walk along
I was a traveler with purpose
My destination, waiting for me
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 10:53 AM UTC
He glances at himself a red tinge to his cheek
At least he has his health but he looks a freak.
“Am I supposed to be this shade” – he inspected a feather.
A parrot is not pink an wanted to be orange like a carrot
How much more he can take I am not sure
“I am a parrot and I am pink, put me out of my misery”
He wanted to be dyed and have you no sympathy.
He sat down and he cried.
His friend was there with him who had fallen from the tree.
He said to him at least he was slim not overweight like him.
The parrot sat in deep thought and it made him think
At the end of the day I am alive even if I am pink.
And pink is a nice colour!
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 12:00 AM UTC
Faces that pass along in the stuffy summer night
See right through me
Though I fight to be seen, to be noticed
Acknowledged as a living breathing entity
I walk along, waiting to be picked up for a second
Inspected for usefulness
And put down again
Expiring my helpfulness again and again
And then I see the shining ray of glory
She steps through the crowd of gray
And addresses me by name
And I lead her down winding paths of Gold and Silver
And she kisses me with her eyes
She makes love to me with her words
I feel her in every depth within me
And then she's gone
Leaving a vacancy in my soul.
Sep 25, 2017
Sep 25, 2017 at 9:18 PM UTC
“i haven’t seen her in years,”
said the hospital bed,
“though i’ve seen many others,
who sobbed violently like her,
who sunk into me like a young, rusting anchor.
who could not get comfortable in one position or
one mindset or
one truth.
i have felt them dig in their heels
and try to ache and and fight and
scream, just quietly enough not to wake their roommate.”
“i remember their shapes,”
said the hospital bed,
“how their voices rose slowly like a far-off ambulance siren,
how their faces fell when they remembered the emergency
was right here.
i have been kicked, punched,
clung to, held on to,
as if gravity switched suddenly and they feared
yet another aspect of the universe was against them.
i’ve seen ***** sheets and i’ve seen clean ones. i’ve
seen boys with tattoos on their faces and
razor marks on their arms. i’ve seen pain.
i’ve seen girls who wouldn’t turn off the lights,
girls who couldn’t turn off the lights,
girls who had turned a light off once and never wanted
to do anything else. i’ve seen pain.
i’ve felt love before
more often than the lovers thought they loved,
more strongly than the fighters thought
they could fight.
in shaky hands folding down blankets
more carefully than they have all week
in heads that flop ungracefully onto
pillows, securely,
fulfilled.
in the slow turn of a hospital bracelet
around a pale wrist,
in large, golden brown hands,
inspected through tear-blurred eyes,
through scratched glasses,
picked up off the floor after discovering
force won’t carry a ring of thin plastic
as far as you thought.
i hear change in whispers,
good night, good luck,
in hushed acceptance, in ‘yes,
i really am here’. in
screams that send nurses in panic only to find
you were laughing. in numbers,
in ‘five hundred milligrams,’
in ‘three gained pounds’, in
‘one more day’.
i hear shock, i hear fear,
in echoes of parents’ voices,
‘why here? why now?’
i have heard and seen and felt all of them.
but she,”
continued the hospital bed,
“hasn’t been in here in a while.
i haven’t heard her whisper
to her roommate about what she did
‘that night’, i haven’t seen her
sneak away from her pile of pajamas
as if she didn’t just hide something there,
i haven’t heard her empathize
with a pencil sharpener.
it’s been so long,
it’s hard to imagine,”
said the hospital bed,
‘i hardly remember her'.
if only the hospital bed knew
that she could hardly remember
herself from then either,
if only it knew she hadn't stopped
fighting once she left
if only it knew
how she felt when they said
she only needed to go to therapy
every other week.
it felt like progress,
and it felt like hope,
and no one better than
a hospital bed
could understand that.
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 11:43 PM UTC
I want to get hit by a BMW.
I want to get hit by a Mercedes.
I want to get run over by a Porsche.
Something big.
I want to get smeared against the pavement
by a Cadillac Escalade.
I want to get hit by one of those big ********
who drag gasoline across the continent,
but I want the driver to be a manic psychopath.
I want him to stalk me on the sidewalk
and then run me over slowly.
He's not any coward, not like those bald patriarchal
Corvette drivers in polo shirts tucked into khakis.
No, he's a great fat man, a hairy beast with
a crooked stare that slows the pulse on impact.
I want the police to cringe or get scared interrogating him,
and haul his truck somewhere to be inspected.
I want the price of gas in nearby areas to go up
by at least fifteen cents for two weeks.
I want to get hit by a BMW.
I want to roll over the windshield,
and drag under the bottom for about ten yards.
I want to separate at the middle and leave organs on his
left side view mirror and hanging on his hood ornament.
I want to seep blood deep into his car,
and when he turns on his heat,
he'll smell my blood full blast in his face
burning.
I want to wreck the car inside and out.
I want to get hit by a car with a McCain sticker on the bumper.
I don't want to get hit by some middle class Ford or Honda,
or someone's shit-level Chevy or beat up jalopy.
I want to get hit by a BMW.
I want the driver to make his tires scream like banshees,
and leave four long streaks of rotten burned rubber on the asphalt.
I want him to step out in business attire, and gasp, inwardly.
I want to flip off the sky, because my aim is bad,
and call him a coward for hitting the brakes.
I want him to think,
"What did I do?
Is he Okay?
What am I going to do?
What if I lose my license?
How will I get to work?
How will I pay for this.
Does my insurance cover
vehicular manslaughter?
I'm not alone right?
I'll get through this.
I'll survive.
I'll just be another statistic.
That's all."
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 12:46 PM UTC
PINK PARROT
He glances at himself a red tinge to his cheek
At least he has his health but he looks a freak.
“Am I supposed to be this shade” – he inspected a feather.
A parrot is not pink an wanted to be orange like a carrot
How much more he can take I am not sure
“I am a parrot and I am pink, put me out of my misery”
He wanted to be dyed and have you no sympathy.
He sat down and he cried.
His friend was there with him who had fallen from the tree.
He said to him at least he was slim not overweight like him.
The parrot sat in deep thought and it made him think
At the end of the day I am alive even if I am pink.
And pink is a nice colour!
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 1:25 AM UTC
A mystery to solve in a famous frame
Smiling from canvas a story to tell
Oh lady of the portrait oh lady of fame
The painter captured your face so well
Those who study art ponder and ruminate
The enigmatic pose that doth beguile
No brush strokes convey your mind state
All angels inspected of daubed smile
Yet the secret stays ever concealed
Baffling them all lady you assuredly do
Nothing of the puzzle is revealed
So well hidden and never in view
Leonardo da Vinci yielded not a clue
When he masterfully conceived of you
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 7:16 AM UTC
This is america.
It's a one of a kind.
You can buy **** at the store.
You can bide your time.
Voting red or blue.
Is a favorite pastime.
Doesn't really matter which side you choose.
Like it doesn't matter if a poem will rhyme.
Hell you could write freestyle poetry about nothing
and that's accepted.
Cuz this is america and you're free to be an idiot. Inspected. Suspected.
Slot machines and credit cards
Stop lights and go-go bars
Social security and national debt
Red white and blue baby
We're the best!
Patriots of olde
and punks of New.
World Order abound
The olde ways are through!
By and by
Time after time
Woe are to those
With woman and child.
Times is tuff says the country station
but be the 5th caller
to win this Ozark vacation.
Skoal and Miller High Life 40s.
Marlboro Reds, rap music and shorties.
Sorry shawties but midgets are better.
What's more profound
than talkin bout the weather?
I forgot the original point
that I wanted to share with ya
but **** it, you know what I mean?
This is america.
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 10:38 PM UTC
They came one day from where I know not.
Unholy structures came to ground, certainly from another world.
They wasted nothing of their time to cast affliction upon us.
We ran away in terror in certain fear of our own lives.
Many were seized and thrown into confinement, others inspected and probed, many of us were taken away and subjected to internal examination even dismemberment, anatomical scrutiny.
We had become the source of food for our invaders.
Additional crafts came from the heavens joining their forbears.
Havoc was extreme as their weapons did their worst creating carnage in every different direction.
They lay waste to every surface and their vehicles cast out foul pollutants which poisoned the very air we breath.
Our world was quickly becoming an inhabitable, desolate disconsolate place and extinction our future.
Some of the braver of us tried to fight back but this alien nation had weapons and tools the like of nothing we had ever seen.
The lucky ones escaped into the nether regions and watched from afar as piece by burning piece their birthplaces were destroyed.
These Humans intend to colonise all that they see and our world will never be the same place again.
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 2:23 PM UTC
1547
Hope is a subtle Glutton—
He feeds upon the Fair—
And yet—inspected closely
What Abstinence is there—
His is the Halcyon Table—
That never seats but One—
And whatsoever is consumed
The same amount remain—
2.9k
we were driving home
taking side roads in a roundabout way.
and you spotted something on the side of the road.
bloodied, broken and (i assumed to be) dead.
you pulled over and we inspected it.
i was rather disgusted, but you picked it up and coddled it 'cause it had fur.
you kept coo'ing at it and asked it what it's name was (expecting no answer)
but it struggled to utter "Love".
we begrudgingly decided to take it home
and made a bed for it and nourished it back to health.
a week later we were drinking Earl Grey by the fireplace,
heard a rumbling
and looked around to see it standing there looking at us.
it was 7' tall and had an expression of awe, wonder, and terror
as if it thought we would ****** it at any second.
each night it had a different face, resembling one of your former playthings.
you never called it the same name twice.
a week later, it couldn't fit through any of the doorways.
we always came home to plaster, paint and drywall scattered everywhere.
i complained.
"Love has broad shoulders", you quipped.
it had grown too much for us.
a week later, i spent the afternoon at the bar and you were shopping.
we rendezvoused back home at 3PM.
only to find a gaping hole where the front door used to be.
everything inside totaled.
precious collections, expensive technology, jewelry...
all gone (or destroyed beyond recognition).
i railed, "Love ruined EVERYTHING!!!"
you seemed to take no note, kept your composure and muttered, "It always does" and just began sweeping.
the next day we got a kitten from the animal shelter,
and were laying in bed with it at night.
i asked, "Do you think Love will ever come back?"
you answered coldly, "It never does".
Jul 16, 2012
Jul 16, 2012 at 1:17 AM UTC
One autumn day in Providence
I opened up a door,
And entered into a stuffy room
Called "Edgar's Nevermore",
A curio shop with things forbidden,
And things bizarre and perverse,
And obelisks of ancient books
Occult, arcane, and diverse.
I poked around the pint-sized potions,
Inspected a petrified eft,
But made no purchase; and empty handed
The merchant's lair I left.
Returning home, to my surprise,
Like one who'd broken the law,
I found I'd taken a good unpaid for:
A little monkey's paw.
It tightly gripped, with fingers curled,
A flap of baggy sleeve;
And there it stayed, upon my jacket,
When I hung it up at eve.
For many days it didn't move,
And seemed the perfect pet;
But never trust a monkey's paw,
Or this is what you'll get:
I went to bed a drunken evening,
And slept as though I were dead;
And I didn't hear the monkey's paw
As it crept beside my bed,
The monkey's paw that had bided its time,
And waited, still as could be,
To choose this night to strangle it—
My voodoo doll of me!
(Why did I have a voodoo doll
Of me, you ask? Well, I...
Well, let's just say...well...I can't tell you...
I'd blush to tell you why...)
I awoke (with bleary, blurry vision)
To the monkey-fisted grip,
Then died without a single curse
To swear upon my lip.
And in my town I'm still remembered
As that quintessential loner
Who died alone with a mangled throat,
A creepy doll...and a *****
O.O
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 3:13 PM UTC
The boogeyman sleeps on your side of the bed,
whispers in my ear "you're better off dead."
He fills my dreams with sirens and lights of regret,
and kisses me gently when I wake up in sweat.
You crossed the water, left me ashore,
it killed me enough but you wanted more.
You blew up the bridge, a mad terrorist waved from your side.
You threw me a kiss.
I tried to follow, but realized too late,
there was nothing but air beneath my feet.
Finally I felt beat.
First you inspected me,
then dissected me,
at last you rejected me.
I wait for the day that you will resurrect me.
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 7:34 PM UTC
From the time he was a little boy
He wanted to be a soldier real bad
To wear big boots and a uniform
to look just like his dad
Although he'd never met the man
Many pictures had he seen
Of daddy as a soldier
being inspected by the queen.
There's a shoebox in the cupboard
With daddys medals and beret
And a letter Johnny never read
about how daddy passed away
The Falklands war was halfway done
but wars are always hell
and The Battle of Goose Green
is where Johnny's hero fell
As soon as he was old enough
despite his mothers pleas
Johnny joined the army
though she begged him from her knees
It seemed he was a natural
a born soldier like his dad
who looking down from up above
would be so proud of his lad
He had an honesty and integrity
that his advancement did effect
A natural heroic son of a *****
you could not help but respect
So when war came around again
this time in old Iraq
Johnny proudly did his duty well
not just the once, for he want back
28 years ago we said goodbye
almost to the day
this time we're here for Johnny
who war also took away
Johnny was my friend
a man I truly loved
No wife or children left behind,
his family's given enough
Jul 10, 2010
Jul 10, 2010 at 8:07 AM UTC
So I was walking down the street the other day,
smoking my cigarette,
and enjoying it,
and singing fake songs to myself,
and I walk past a small car,
and it made me stop,
because its strange to see a small car on my street.
Especially a small car painted in bright clown colors,
and especially a small clown colored car filled with smoke,
and especially a small clown colored car filled with smoke and what looks to be clowns.
So I decided to investigate,
and I walked up,
and I tapped on the window,
and as soon as I did all I could hear was screaming and kicking.
I took a step back because
I mean
****
what if it exploded?
And as the small colorful clown car door opened,
smoke poured out,
billowing and puffing,
very strange smelling smoke of all different colors,
and i began to wonder if it wasn't me who was tripping ball's,
as 1..
no 2..
no 12
huge bug eyed clowns crawled out.
Gawking and hissing and juggling crack pipes.
The first one asked my name.
I lied of course.
You never trust a cracked out clown,
not even with your name.
The second one asked me my age.
I lied of course,
because it's a well known fact crack clowns are pedophiles
and he might have tried to have his way with me
if I told him the truth about my tender young age.
The third asked me for a cigarette.
I gave it to him of course,
out of sheer terror that if I didn't
he might use his circus tricks
to pull a colorful rag out of his ***
and choke me to death with it
and I didn't want that.
The rest of them just kind of stared at me
or screamed
or sniffed my clothing and inspected me.
After a few minutes of all of this
I decided I'd had enough.
Talking with clowns is bad karma anyways,
and I started to walk away
waving politely
but no they weren't done with me yet.
They hog tide me
and covered me in clown make up
and adopted me as there new pet monkey
/clown driver
/lion tamer.
But of course,
when the police found me naked in a trash can at three in the morning a few hours later
still unable to complete whole sentences
they wouldn't believe ( or couldn't understand) a word of it
but I'll tell you,
if you ever see a smoke filled colorful clown car
just walk away.
We know the truth
its ugly, and juggles crack pipes.
Dec 27, 2012
Dec 27, 2012 at 1:38 AM UTC
you enter my dreams with such audacious curiousity;
examined the void with intellect- deprived precision,
inspected every crevice painted in colour.
you left the blue for last because you say
the amphetamine matches my eyes.
you sample every syllable ever borne from my mouth,
denude the metaphors to their unchaste nakedness,
reach inside for unfleshly meaning.
you say all my filthy secrets implode into
ugly saliva bubbles on the brim of my tongue
and that is why you bite it off.
you make the drain spin out water. you make reverse hurricanes.
you euthanise my suffering mind with vulgarity and sliver-veined chalks.
i like it when the moon is yellow and not white.
spread me across your bones, you make me cold
**** in flesh. you wear me on your head as you would a stubborn fever.
you lick the lily, burn away its petals and
then you use the ashes in your next drag.
there are ghosts in your hair, they want idiosyncratic judgments.
they want anatomised angels and amputated wings.
they want ribs, signals, vessels and chlorine and aileron segments.
and electric ***
i am thinking of lexemes and lycoris, the vulnerability of artlessness,
prosthetic fingers and cigarettes, the umbrella under metal rain.
i only remember realities when they are expired.
the ribbon between cognition and the ventriloquist.
the psychology in undesired sentences.
this is the only immortality you and i may share; amongst ourselves
like teenagers filching answers before algebra, like dealers exchanging
eight-balls, pipes and profanity, like animals in chemical heat.
this vanilla immortality that we no longer need.
i'm watching the end of the world
from underneath your clothes.
Nov 1, 2010
Nov 1, 2010 at 6:42 AM UTC
She wore the wild winds
Like wasps in her hair
Flinging locks furiously
Letting them settle
Wherever they will
Long and gorgeous
Raven black and full
Crushed poisonous rose petals
To further blush her bloodied lip
Knees scraped with grand adventures
Arms bruised with strange activities
Feral and fearless
Catlike climber with such feline agility
No landscape was to daunting
No night life to haunting
Just beauty and wonder
Seeing her eyes wander
Seeing each stone turned over
Seeing each sea shell collected
And carefully inspected
No tea parties
No fashion runways
No mindless musings
About prince charmings
Princesses or queens
But books and dreams
Scarlet schemes
Rivers and streams
That ran as far as she could see
She watched it all
Each daring doe that darted by
Each bird that perched or took flight
Each fish that shimmered searching nearby streams
Nature was her discovery
Life was her poetry
As the oceans battered the shores
As the tundras whitened the landscape
As the stone strewn pathways
Searched for new towns
As the mountains strained to touch the clouds
The wild wind warrior woman
Conquered it all
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 7:56 PM UTC
I was making a sandwich
for the customer with green eyes
when Amanda came in and said,
"look for the printed word."
I had no idea what it meant
but I continued making the man's
turkey pastrami on rye.
She left without buying her usual
pumpkin cookie and soy chai latte,
extra foam of course.
Was this some sort of riddle,
about how a raven
is like a writing desk?
I looked through the produce
hoping to find a scrap of crumpled
paper among the peaches.
Then to the juice bar, even
sifting through the pulp of
discarded apples and kale.
I asked the cooks in the back
if they had seen any odd words
around, but they said no.
The intercom howled "Thank you
for shopping at Jimbooooo's…Naturally!"
when it hit me. I rushed back
toward the sandwich bar and
inspected the guacamole.
And the seed of the avocado
sitting next to it read,
"Neon fruit supermarkets
attract a lonely Whitman."
Nov 15, 2011
Nov 15, 2011 at 11:44 AM UTC
I can’t wait to grow up,
to have the freedom to dress how I want, whether that’s sweats or skirts;
to talk how I want, and have my opinions matter;
and do what I want when I want, and not be held back.
I can’t wait to look back on life,
and see that what I thought was an endless mountain of troubles,
was just a grain of sand in a desert.
To laugh at my old journals and scrapbooks,
admiring the innocence and individuality,
vowing to never forget.
I can’t wait to run my own life,
to be my own authority,
and not be inspected like a creature under a microscope.
I can’t wait to get a job,
follow my desires and dreams from childhood,
and to be able to support myself and be my own role model.
I can’t wait to live on my own,
to spend endless days in a cozy apartment reading, getting lost in someone else’s story,
and playing my guitar, washing away my worries and stress like a waterfall.
Singing at the top of my lungs,
having movie marathons every weekend,
and going to bed whenever I please.
I can’t wait to find my one true love,
to spend the rest of my life with them, trusting like I never have before,
fitting together like lost puzzle pieces.
To exchange the classic vows,
dressed in white and black, with a touch of pink,
our families crying and laughing all night.
I can’t wait to have children,
to give them my heart and soul,
watch them grow up, déjà vu at its finest.
Taking care of them day to day,
from scratches to unstoppable giggles,
their green eyes shining with wonder and innocence.
I can’t wait to grow old,
still with my one love, in a little house with a white picket fence,
watching our grandchildren laugh and play.
Passing down years of wisdom,
young ears eager to listen to our mistakes and stories from a long life together,
helping them prepare for their futures.
I can’t wait to grow up.
I can’t wait to love.
I can’t wait to live.
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 3:34 PM UTC
Believer takes his hat and coat,
Walks out of his room,
Into a misty gloom where shadows warp his irises,
And he falls and falls straight into heaven.
Disbeliever steals a rock from the underground cave,
Ties it to his ankle never floats away,
Blasphemy is and will always be his life,
Every night the disbeliever sat near his bed,
Praying to Believer above,
When it never came he took the name,
Coward.
Believer took pity and asked heaven for an angel,
The angel couldn't do much but mourn with Coward,
As his disbelief kept his sight blinded,
And he was content, by god he never wanted to let go.
Plants grew into Coward's room,
His frame growing frail and tired,
Years of fighting and giving up drained his veins,
Finally, an ounce of death brought a clearing in his vision,
Coward saw his angel and shot it not once, not twice, but thrice,
Once for the son, second for the father, the third for the holy spirit.
Believer took this as a sign,
That he was fearful of something controlling his life,
Coward needed to control and stabilize himself his way,
No angels over his shoulder,
No rules to abide by,
Whether it was real or not,
It was Coward who needed to learn to heal himself.
Coward shot himself once more and bandaged his wound with care,
Taking his blood with him,
He inspected it's contents,
Wondering what was inside that cursed and plagued his life,
He found that it was all himself and things he told himself,
To a shock and a conclusion of misery,
Coward knew that once he got off of his ride,
He'd have to drain his blood and purify it,
It took every ounce of sadness and courage,
But it worked. Oh god it worked.
Feb 5, 2019
Feb 5, 2019 at 11:40 AM UTC
He felt that he did not look in mirrors enough, so he looked now. This is what he did not see: that he was on his third wife and fifth mistress. Nor did he see that both were strong -- stronger than he had kept before -- but not so strong that they could last much longer. He saw a face crashing slowly into tomorrow, but the cause of its crumpling was another. The cause was his wife: shrewish and callous, constantly turning tears into anger and grinding their shrill shards of glass into his skin to cut wrinkles. He did not see his hypocrisy, the fact that he had lain on his mistress' lap and cried the same tears last night. All because of being misunderstood, neglected, and -- this one unstated -- unable to find a still-younger woman for a new affair. After picking something from his teeth he inspected his hairline. "Not so grey."
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 4:53 PM UTC
never content:
withholding love out of what?
fear? envy? greed? sadness?
how i long for peace, stability and change...
a constant contradiction. barreling from heart to heart -
never finding ground long enough to lose myself
in someone else’s arms.
feelings stronger after i tear them out.
have to look at them in the air in front of my eyes.
bleeding, dripping their blood on the carpet,
heart beating in my hands.
to be clinically inspected and torn apart
only to discover that this was what i wanted all along.
like a tree, felled to tell its age,
dead, but finally understood.
too late to say,
“ah! look how old it’s branches, how deep its roots, how wonderful it’s shade!”
dead. dead and decomposing on the floor.
will i always glorify love lost over love in front of my eyes?
Nov 30, 2018
Nov 30, 2018 at 8:37 PM UTC
Allow me a brief introduction
I'm the whisper that tangles your mind
There's no sinful intention you harbour
That I haven't inspected and signed
With a grip on your deepest emotion
And a twist between every line
That treacherous thought you've been hiding
Could quite easily be one of mine
**
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 7:09 AM UTC
I heard
That I’m made out
Mostly of water
And star stuff
They say that there is
A secret galaxy
Located in my mantle
Just beneath the crust
Of my pale skin
They nodded at me
Twirled me around
Inspected and pulled on
My skin
They nodded
Saying, “Yep, it’s in there.”
I heard
That I’m made out
Of water
And star stuff
They say that there is
A secret galaxy
Located in my mantle
Just beneath the crust
Of my pale skin
I got excited
And grabbed a kitchen knife
And cut through
The equator line of my belly
And I found nothing
But sticky, stinky, bouncy globules
Planets, maybe
So where are my stars?
Aug 16, 2013
Aug 16, 2013 at 8:27 PM UTC