"octopi" poems
an aging APE developed arthritis in his ankles
several BATS tasted the nectar from the plum trees
Jessica's CAT played with the ball of wool
DINGOS were seen skulking around the camp site
there are two types of ELEPHANTS the Asian and African
FERRETS are sent down rabbit warrens to flush them out
Helen saw a GIRAFFE at the wildlife reserve
I wrote a poem titled Hilary The HIPPOPOTAMUS
Who has a pet IGUANA?
Some people say my uncle is a *******
KANGAROOS have muscular tails
Obama rhymes with LLAMA
in parts of Canada MOOSE roam on the loose
a NEWT likes being in a warm environment
some OCTOPI have black dye
baby PANDAS are cute and cuddly
in Australia we have a native bush QUAIL
RACCOONS live in rocky dens
a TAPIR has a very long nose
UAKARI monkeys hang out in the Amazon jungle
if you're looking for a VOLE you'll find him in a hole
WOMBATS move in a very slow manner
an XERUS is a mighty big species of squirrel
the Nepalese have domesticated YAKS
Doctor Dolittle has spoken to a ZEBRA
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 10:54 PM UTC
I couldn't care less about
"Inspirational Quotes"
I don't need to be told that
the present is a gift
or what the best thing about
rock bottom is
or that only I can stop forest fires.
If I was to write one myself,
it would have less to do with
landing in the stars,
and more to do with
how much better you could see them
if you had the eyes of an octopus.
See,
Octopi have such phenomenal eyes.
The spectrum of color they see
makes our own look like
the ****** box of crayons
you get at a kids restaurant.
Whereas an octopuses,
would be the beautiful,
64 Crayola pack
I always wanted as a kid.
If I ever went blind,
I think I'd get octopus eye replacements.
And yeah,
I'd probably look weird because
they'd be too big for my head
but can you imagine how
strange and incredible
it would be?
And it wouldn't matter how I look because
how I see things
is more important to me
than how I'm seen.
If there was even the
slightest chance,
of seeing though the
eyes of an octopus,
that's reason enough to be alive.
And if I could take your life
or your perspective,
and change it even a bit,
that's reason enough too.
So look through the
eyes of an octopus.
Can you imagine the stars?
Apr 23, 2018
Apr 23, 2018 at 1:18 PM UTC
I found me heart in the sea
surrounded by corral that's rust red
locked in a chest with shiny cents
So heavy it never rose
not even when given a good laugh
pearls and black diamond tears
The fish cry saltless tears
and no one I know can see
They only know my joyous laugh
and the things they wrote, I read
blooming like a rose
I was this made more sense
But alas, I waste my two cents
soaking in salty tears
I wish that chest had rose
from the sand beneath the sea
****** heart beating red
god I need a laugh
The octopi around me laugh
for they have a humorous sense
and don't know the things I read
standing in the theater tiers
Their big, old eyes can see
the locked chest that never rose
They gather in pews and rows
eager for another laugh
They don't understand, they belong in the sea
but my heart down here makes no sense
so I still have salty tears
mixing with each pump of red
The octopi never read
sorting coral into rows
They never had to cry tears
They only know how to laugh
because to them this all makes sense
Their hearts belong in the sea
They cannot see, for they have not read
They have no cents, they don't know the rose
all they do is laugh, ignoring human tears
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 3:48 AM UTC
Sometimes
I feel a well
dug deep
into my heart
I try to stop it
but it quickly
becomes ocean
and overflows
into great tsunami
rises over all the levees
rushes past dams
breaks down tall
city structures,
edifices crumbling
in its path
all the squid and octopi
skitting forth
in wild pulses,
tentacles entangled
in doorways and rooves
slipping through narrow
window-openings
as they pour ink
in clouds,
shifting shapes
in cephalopod excitement
while blue whales
and humpbacks
breach over bridges,
phosphorescent jellies
light up
the dark streets of
my arteries
electric eels illuminate
the alleyways of
desolation's thick syrup
and I cannot stop it even
if I wanted to,
these darkened,
swirling waves
I am both floating and flying
like a jumping manta ray
curling around the ferries
bobbing in seahorse iridescence
weaving between buses
as if they were corals
And when the storm subsides,
colorful rockpools form,
rich in diversity
It is there,
in between the
multicolored ***** and
succulent shellfish,
in a mermaid's
voluptuous smile
and turquoise eye
that I see you,
so crystal clear
I could reach out
and bring you to me,
holding you tight
until the
gentle break
of
morning
Sep 3, 2017
Sep 3, 2017 at 5:31 PM UTC
You walked in
a pool of sharks
knowing where the good fish is
and the plankton floats
You were floating in
a great ocean of possibilities
some so foreign, your eyes dilated
some so familiar you felt elated
You slid next to great whales of knowledge
and shook the tentacles with wise octopi
with strands of experience
You got bitten by piranhas of isolation
and even bled internally from bumping shoulders
with beautiful heartless corals
Then one day you met a seashell and her friend
you marveled at the intricate art of nature
and became friends
this time you had the courage to knock
Not all hard exteriors
reflect tough
personalities
You just
had to
knock
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 8:36 AM UTC
Here's to all my Aussie friends.
You fought with bravery and honor
at Kimberley, Passchendaele,
Gallipoli, Romani, Crete,
Tobruck, Milne Bay, Yongju
and even in Vietnam.
And I know why you did it.
Abounding in your back yards
were stalking cassowaries, spiders
that rot your flesh, invisible
but lethal jelly fish,
Coastal Taipan and Brown snakes,
not to mention saltwater crocodiles
Great White sharks, Stone Fish,
blue ringed octopi and
the odd Marble Cone Snail.
War must have seemed safe
compared to he horrors of home.
Here's to you mates. Fair Dinkum.
I would have been on the first
transport out, too.
~mce
Jan 13, 2016
Jan 13, 2016 at 9:33 AM UTC
These oceans are swelling with passion and grief
Emotions tucked away tightly in the coral reef
Protected by the old, wise octopi tribe
I’ll swim right past them to get inside
When hidden among the deepest blue,
Your light still shines on brightly through,
Radiating a path for me to travel on.
Once I find you in the wake of dawn,
Take me sailing into the sunrise,
Set still the tide with those glowing eyes,
Once these waves do curl and break,
My heart will be all yours to take.
Oct 4, 2012
Oct 4, 2012 at 8:15 AM UTC
with the lust
of a 14 year old ***** boy
playing hooky
eyes blink orbs
riding the bumpy
**** grind yields
a mental representation
*her ***
a Coney Island ride
reciprocity of tongue and groove
a big dipper
and a hot dog
in a bun eating contest
i eye the shape of her legs
brahmana of form
**** cake butter scallops
with a prune skin ****
***** dark little sister
going along for the ride
with hidden talents
*om shakti om
holy donut with a zit*
rubbing myself
a peripatetic command
like I had the junkies itch
in a bearded clam sea
of black nail claws
like musical notes
that tear flesh
hegemony of *** art
*make me bleed *****
Tangula The Exotic Shake Dancer
moves infallible hips
and dancing hands like octopi
tickling bloated *****
ta-ting go the finger cymbals
smiling she called pip squeak
colossus of her dreams
flick tongues the meringue
licking the
shimmering tantra pistol
finger up the **** hole
brings a prostate exclamation point
and a throat gag lyric
for a wagon train
of wrap around lips
zooming spit and spray
wet like scungelli
her *******
like cloud cookies
****** my mouth
gasper boy
chokes on
a marshmallow fire
i kiss her feet
and work my way up
the slippery slope
a starved dog
…
Jul 1, 2020
Jul 1, 2020 at 8:54 PM UTC
In the "Warwick Arms".
There's a girl wearing fake fur
of yesteryear's youth, weighing
out sexiness in the number
of beers she can afford.
How much oblivion
an unimaginative mind can take
is equal to the power of
a beached whale
drawing it's last breath.
The Russian wipes his moustache
turns around & smirks
that she's somewhat
under-dressed for the long winter.
Going to Japan.
Pink rain:
I could walk through it,
sweet-wrapped.
And the rice-blank past
would be ample weight in my hand.
Like that of roses, remembered.
In a Murakami bar,
octopi would reach out
& dangle questions.
As a thousand pair of eyes
ask me to give the lesson
no-one ever taught me.
That they alone know.
That only pink rain understands.
Oct 11, 2015
Oct 11, 2015 at 2:57 PM UTC
Let's taste the ocean water together
just you and I
we will dive into the deep blue sea
holding hands til our heads are just floating on top
riding with the waves
and let's dive in even further after that
until we're kissing the ocean bottom
gulping in copious amounts of sea salt and shrimp brine
lets just dive in
dive in
dive in
and sink with the mollusks and octopi
give up on living this sham we call a life
cloistered in our clam shells we don't have a room with a view
always protecting our pearls from those that are out to poach us for our inner treasures
remember all the gold memories we've collected in our troves
like we were hoarding them away for some rainy day
well it doesnt get any rainier than drowning in these murky depths
we're like treasure chests sinking to the bottom fast
lost from some forgotten shipwreck
we're collecting on the ocean floor waiting to be discovered
over centuries we'll rust and be covered in barnacles before we're found
Crumbling in the hands of those that try to rescue us
lets just give up
give up
give up
but we can't give up
Not yet anyway
Not while we're treading these waves
with sharks lapping hungrily at our feet
With rows of ravenous razor sharp teeth
savoring the slow taste of our defeat
as we inch closer
And closer
With our heads fighting to stay above water
til we can no longer tread with these useless arms and legs
we take that last gasp of treasured breath into our lungs
and feel the water pressure collapse around our tired bodies
feeling the ache of our worn out limbs
we sink and we sink
We sink
We sink to the bottom of where we started
filling our deflated hearts with all the failed dreams and squandered hopes of all the shipwrecked treasures that came before us
And all those that join us sooner or later on these murky endless bottoms
We've been here before
And we're all destined to be here again
And again
And again
So let's just keep treading these waves for as long as we can
Maybe we'll luck out and find an island in all this oceanic bliss
We'll crawl on shore
Grasping for dry sand and a warm place to hole up in
Before we find ourselves back out
Lost in the sea
Treading water
With sharks licking hungrily at our feet
With rows of ravenous razor sharp teeth
Savoring the slow taste of our defeat
Sep 29, 2012
Sep 29, 2012 at 1:33 AM UTC
Why is it so much easier to be disillusioned
about the lush forest than it is to see the
flowers that really exist?
Why is it easier to feel the vastness of a desert than it is
to feel the vastness of a life/ rainforest?
Sure no **** we don’t live in an oasis but that does not mean
trees taller than building don’t exist,
it does not mean we live in the middle of a desert with
time frozen and sand liquid.
Sure there are snakes in the sand but they are not the only animals.
Monkeys, lizards octopi whales, humans all of us exist.
We live among deserts and oasis’s.
So for gods sake while deserts are big can we not champion the oceans
that are a little bigger?!
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 12:44 PM UTC
He sails the seas in search of cheese
salt crackers and fresh bread,
pickles and jam and maybe ham
and apples green and red.
As salt waves Lap he checks his map
His compass points him east,
to cracked plate isle where with a smile
he hopes to find his feast.
He takes the oar and rows once more
past wrecks of sunken chips
where octopi with beady eye
swim slow beneath his ship
Beneath the calm a suckered arm
shoots out and grabs the sail
Struggling to stand his sword in hand
he strikes to no avail
As out the blue another two
take hold upon his boat
a crack a crash as others bash
he fights to stay afloat
His sword goes whack the arm pulls back
the octopus descends
Sobbing wet tears he reappears
and said can't we be friends
For I've no one for they've all gone
and left me here he said
So can we please travel the seas
in search of bread and cheese
Jacob said aye and winked his eye
and said this will be fun
Friendship he thought cannot be bought
it must with love be won
Friendship be said beats cheese and bread
laughter sweeter than jam
I wish you could feel half as good
and happy as I am
Jul 5, 2012
Jul 5, 2012 at 6:40 AM UTC
Last night
I dreamt a dream that should not be dreamt
It was desire having a face
Saw two faces
One unfamiliar
One I knew
This morning
I saw my request to be a friend was accepted
Saw two common friends
One unfamiliar
One was you
Later
I read a poem
For a Japanese woodblock print
Of a woman and the two octopi
It was a dream of the fisherman’s wife.
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 12:08 AM UTC
They decked their bodies on the hexagonal stairway,
That primed up into the heavens of boulders.
Decked boulders,
Eyes from the dead shoulders,
That ran the dust of time and concern,
With double ambiguity;
That ran the cobwebs of melodrama,
Of Purple voids
And dainty scars,
There were just blocks.
There was no God.
No Owl.
No leaflet or Foliage.
There was just a dainty scar
That cervically opened
Into a white expanse of rugged and dusty fieldstones;
With the waves expanding their circumference
It was hard to keep the shells afloat.
Rosebuds, it looked like,
The little ***** that dug out of dung holes,
Everywhere on the white crystalline beach;
Rose budded footprints of an animaline saint.
It might just not be the little *****
Then the dust rose up.
It amalgamated into the purple haze
That became the tender feet of cupids that embedded
Their rose-budded footprints along the shore of the sea
Sea that circumference the earth;
A Chinese fishnet flew out of the foliage
That, that is drugged in a an embrace
Gently over the ocean’s tiny footprints.
The fishnet was not targeted or focused on oars
But it was the Oars
That roared an echo
That conjured a Wraith
With Ate by its side;
They roared in unison
In a screaming echo of the overdue night before.
One with desperate fledging oars,
In a senseless sea
And,
In an endless churn;
Then the sky drifted apart
To clear the grey remains,
That of a nuclear battleground
Of the last world
It skid along a steep drift
And found a purple pathway.
The pathway took enough time to open them
The dingy awls of ancient machine plates.
Entwined and unforgotten,
These had made a rounder depth into its omnipotent boulders
Than the mongrel-ic infrastructure of the present world;
Mongrels of a primitive category of potential.
The wisdom that was as ****** as
A bloated hyacinth in its first blossom;
It took a speck of a quarter wink.
Chaos followed obstruction,
And the dust jostled out in the jiffiest.
It was a strange new octopi.
With blades for pearls.
With fangs for lustre
With gigantic dilation of a black void of pupil;
How could it run through?
It phantom-ed the serpent in one plunge;
And a single spasm.
Then it exploded.
A million nebulas bristling with a zillion kind of rainbows,
Rainbows of hydrangeas in elixiric daze at the tip of each finger.
And,
Starlets.
Then it was all purple.
Cosmotic falancho on a curly fledge.
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 5:34 PM UTC
You look like
Someone I knew
Much much better
But your face is
A skull of hate
So now I wait
For random call
Little bow ties
On backs of legs
Youth on elbow
Livin'. Again.
Octopi, high.
Embrace the instinct
My bated breath
Goes unanswered
Phoenix rises
But not for me
I hold no grudge
Except maybe
The fact that she
Smoked all my ****
Aug 26, 2011
Aug 26, 2011 at 4:55 AM UTC
Let us consider
The walrus and the carpenter
And the plight of poor
Mother oyster and her babes
To be eaten
To be digested
To be pooed
This is the way of the farm oyster
Cultivated lovingly
For mass consumption
By those with the taste
For salty snot ***** –
The time has come to speak of other things
Like clams, and *****
Lobster and squid
Octopi and the urchin
Jellyfish smeared
On fish pate
Spoken how it is spelled
Fish pate on a date
Seems great unless grated
Or outdated…
Just leave it on the plate
Pate on a plate
For goodness sake
Kaloo Kalay
Fishing is work
Just ask the learning channel
The history channel
Animal planet
OPB
ABC
Fox will tell you it’s easy
But seriously,
What does the fox say –
I sit at work
Longing to be as the walrus
Do a little ocean fishing
And have a bit of a bake
But alas,
Kaloo
Kalay
Cabbages and Kings
Sometimes have to work –
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 5:10 PM UTC
I'd keep every promise you'd make me make,
But what have you ever asked for?
And I keep wishing you'd ask for the world,
And then I'm afraid if you did,
I couldn't get it,
Planned it out, peice by peace,
I think, I thought,
How I could get you the world,
From the biggest to the the smallest,
Doesn't matter what kind of promise,
You say you don't have what you need?
What the **** do we need?
To breathe,
And we all need a heart to breathe,
Say your hearts lost, and I don't care any more,
You've got mine, and who the hell needs two hearts?
We aren't aliens and we aren't octopi or squid,
And we aren't worms either, they don't even have hearts,
Sometimes we all seem heartless though,
Forget to breathe, faint a little inside,
Hope is hard to catch,
It'll take you a while, if you haven't done it before,
Like catching a butterfly, it'll take some time,
But once you realize the beauty you have in your hand,
You'll let it loose,
You gave me a butterfly, and I wish I could give it back,
But I let it loose,
And I'm beginning to think,
I lost it.
Oct 11, 2011
Oct 11, 2011 at 2:25 AM UTC
The Octopi Jars
by Michael R. Burch
Long-vacant eyes
now lodged in clear glass,
a-swim with pale arms
as delicate as angels'...
you are beyond all hope
of salvage now...
and yet I would pause,
no fear!,
to once touch
your arcane beaks...
I, more alien than you
to this imprismed world,
notice, most of all,
the scratches on the inside surfaces
of your hermetic cells...
and I remember documentaries
of albino Houdinis
slipping like wraiths
over the walls of shipboard aquariums,
slipping down decks'
brine-lubricated planks,
spilling jubilantly into the dark sea,
parachuting through clouds of pallid ammonia...
and I know now in life you were unlike me:
your imprisonment was never voluntary.
Originally published by Triplopia and The Poetic Musings of Sam Hudson. Keywords/Tags: Octopus, Octopi, Medusa, Sea Angel, Angel, Angels, Nature, Sea, Ocean, Aquarium, Aliens, Imprisonment, Prison, Ship, Ships, Shipwreck
Sep 8, 2020
Sep 8, 2020 at 4:20 AM UTC
i’m not here to pay my taxes
blah!
octopi strings attached into thinking
i’d down a bottle of *** without the hawaiian angels!
to hell with you!!!
she’s
the last cause i have of me,
but it’s
the one that makes billions accounted for
in history, dead numbering 70,000
by only one historian's care for facts, that's
when history is dyslexic with numbers instead of words,
it says: solomon's appetite, the reverse onomatopoeia
recorded of hum? mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm... *******
waves of virginia ah wooooooo!
*um um dumb d’uh 9 oh 6, 5 ah ah index pinky 1 2 3... ******* retards... throw that alsatian off the red brick wall to learn a few mannerisms of broken feet! i’ve had enough! pickle those foetuses in brine for emperor peter the great to intercede! i’ve had enough of the philistine peasants! i’m going coo coo in the artefact of the rolling composers loosing it in the muzak spectacle of the st. petersburg fountain; give me davy jones’ eternity on loop without insect ***** or interactant activity of the interpreted state of affairs, for the dictator to civilise his “insects” and reel in a misery that could never be a puppeteer’s excess shadow of string with the shadows wholly formed into balance of a hand picking up a stone excusing any excess of cobweb to interfere.*
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 9:19 PM UTC
I will laugh and
Smile
As we spend time together.
Spend your time with me.
Between two dots in the Universe.
Where we will weep and cry
At the final dot.
Melancholic and morose.
Before, we will be
Sanguine
Jovial
Exuberant
Happy.
Happy for the time between
Two points.
Infinity will beam and
Take the hands of Oblivion
And swing his lover
Around as she squeals and
Laughs
They will make love in
The sunshine; The moonlight;
During witching hour
And watch the sunrise
Merely to do it all again.
Perhaps we will fall in love.
Infatuated. Intoxicated.
(one more to complete the set.)
Perhaps you will be my muse
(I will go through forests and octopi.)
Perhaps I will be the one to make you cry.
When you become my siren;
When you crash me on the rocks;
We will reach the final dot
And fall in to the abyss.
Oblivion and Infinity
Will not catch us
In our descent.
And the time between two dots
Will be the only time that exists
And I’ll be
Ecstatic
To spend it
With you.
Aug 8, 2011
Aug 8, 2011 at 6:01 PM UTC
Saint Valentine's cards of cherubs wrapped
In red ribbons
Wresting In pockets Of a trench-coat lying removed.
Pulsating street lamps revealing glittering
Flecks of snowflakes lining tired streets
With skyscrapers.
We covet empty bottles thrown with the intention to shatter;
Watering up the lawns.
I'm dreaming of palm trees rough,
Sun-kissed, and swollen
Like bumblebees had stung them.
Shifting iris' from corner to corner,
Not missing any pleasurable encounter;
Sinking in ***** and choking In smoke.
Lines cut with maxed out credit cards and
Tokes from glass pipes shaped like octopi;
There's single roses and small
Teddy bears
Red hearts hanging from strings from the ceiling.
The wallflower with no significant other In particular,
Seems peculiar in
Contrast to a sparkling demeanor;
Apprehensive to be present, and trying to disguise It.
Everyone is stumbling, dropping their cigarettes;
Howling at the Moon and
Laughing wildly!
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 9:24 PM UTC
*"The ocean is a desert
with its life underground
and a perfect disguise
above..." Dewey Bunnell*
On a horse with
no name I rode
bare-backed in
the purple sage...
***** Pipe cacti
played the melodies
of Mexico.
Swaying sea grasses
were skirts for the
range fences...
broken and rusty.
To be avoided,
my parents warned...
Tetanus... lock-jaw.
Other things to be
aware of...
don't swim too far
from the beach...
don't stay too long
in the sun...
I was happy at the
tide pools... aqua and
pristine. Sea slugs...
far from slug-like.
Flat and purplish
with frilly edges,
undulating dancers.
Picked up and dropped
over and over.
Baby octopi... an
entire tidepool
drenched in purple
ink in its desperate
bid for freedom...
Sea Urchins...
"Their spines can
**** my parents
warned. It was
fascinating how
they attached
themselves to
the rocks...
Almost as firmly
as the limpets...
We had
Hermit Crab races
Ate food disallowed
at home... swam
out to where water
was ultramarine...
jumped over the
barbed-wire...
with our arms
hugging
the
sun...
SøułSurvivør
(C) 5/21/2017
May 21, 2017
May 21, 2017 at 5:39 AM UTC
again, this thing about the cartesian res cogitans
(thinking thing), substance and extension...
i’m pretty sure the darwinistic expression
of early model does not suit this model,
my own version i wrote once, res vanus (empty thing)
fits the gig better - we who can now snuggle in duvets,
who housebound the wild boar,
who milk cows with technological octopi tentacles,
who switch hot dogs with popcorn in the dark,
who ice-skate at somerset house at christmas,
who take diamond bling and christmas tree bulb bling
to equal the same credit on plastic,
who with polystyrene foam beat nature
by showing nature it couldn’t digest it on whatever
level of insect and parasite,
well have all the luxuries now, and we found them
not so much from thinking but from emptiness,
there is more chance of the eureka in res vanus than
there is in res cogitans - it’s the spontaneity you see,
and less need to narrate: love, lost love, aching love , ex lovers.
what else is there? it’s the easier assumption to have
with the niche topic in relation to kant’s noumenon (thing in itself),
i don’t know why i want to mention this orientation
to further the explanation -
early man was defined by res vanus - the sensual overload,
the prime, being empty and forced into the heat and the cold
and the mystic tiger hunger -
and still as defined by res cogitans, we pause and feel empty,
not so much in terms of emotion, but in terms of thought,
however we no longer gather at the campfire,
few people crowd by a lightbulb to talk fables with a
memory of achilles ajax and hector...
we need neon rainbows to huddle -
whether that be by eros shooting the neons of piccadilly circus blind,
or by televisions or computers,
rarity a fire that crept into the ribcage and gave way to
a macaw song of cross-dimensional sophistication off mayan jungles.
Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 12:11 PM UTC
Wake up, breathing, happy to see
The walls surround you, deafening
You're in the ocean, water deep
The ground is there beneath your feet
It's at the door, ding-dong bell
You're whispering to rid your Hell
Of mindless thoughts and there you fell
Into the pit - a burning smell
When the sun is up, the heat is nigh
Your words are breaths to make it by
An aquarium of octopi
You breathe again and feel alright
The window has a crack but it's okay
You patch it up with masking tape
And avoid it like that song you hate
To masquerade this life you've made
Sunglasses to hide the eyes behind
In hopes that one day vines would bind
The swimming laps, the daily grind
To avoid the time it'd take to find
The answer to your Hell is near
Just put that smile ear-to-ear
And remember the reason that you're here
Alive and breathing - let it come clear
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 12:33 PM UTC
Stuck,
I mold to the first touched
Hold to the surface much
like octopi twirling along
the ocean floor
Sticky,
pry candied fingers
from your sleeve
those residual molecules
of me, steadfast
to the point of discomfort.
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 6:16 PM UTC