"piglet" poems
i want to hug you the way,
winnie the pooh hugs the piglet
Mar 6, 2019
Mar 6, 2019 at 5:11 AM UTC
*Integrity over Popularity
Mystique over Physique
Wisdom over Education
Spontaneous over Meticulous
Patience over Anxious
Peace over Pace
Grace over Face
Elation over Frustration
Spiritualism over Materialism
Honesty over Secrecy
Passion over Fashion
Honey over Money
Poetic over Pedantic
Relaxivity over Productivity
Attitude over Pulchritude
Gaiety over Propriety
Intuition over Sophistication
Intimacy over Privacy
Devotion over Ambition
&
Love over Everything*
~ For my best friend, Piglet <3 ~
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 6:19 PM UTC
An Infinite number of Monkeys,
furiously typing away,
provided with paper and ribbon
would, in time,write Shakespeare's plays.
Off-shoring and Corporate mergers,
Massive layoffs, death and disease,
plus the lack of typewriter repairmen
Decimated those bard-chimpanzees.
Instead of that infinite number
these days I'm afraid it's just me
churning out corrupt Shakespeare Quartos
titled "Piglet, the Prince of Belize"
Nov 17, 2011
Nov 17, 2011 at 9:11 AM UTC
As you are a sow,
So a piglet will you reap.
As you are a pretty sow,
So a boar you will let you keep.
As you are a filthy sow now,
So a true human will call you cheap.
As you are another sow,
So a burr or oink will you beep.
As you are a sow,
So a boar will go deep.
Oct 2, 2016
Oct 2, 2016 at 4:13 AM UTC
The innocent pig! Slaughtered in the blood stained room.
The man stands over the corpse and laughs.
Slowly
he peels the skin off the pig,
scolding the dead for pig her small imperfections.
For some game, that needs fresh skin.
The surface of her body and soul, in
a grey factory fit over a mold by a
person who has delt with tens of thousands
of innocent pigs and can only see the skin.
A conveyor belt takes thousands of animals,
whose only fault was being too heavy, into a drying room.
The pigs not animals but objects now, slaughtered
for entertainment.
The “vegetarian” football player takes
the skin of the poor mama pig and chucks it to his friend.
The misguided soul! Taught tediously to truly think that
the typical time of the gentle piglet far better spent dead
than to live a hellish life, nor will this soul know the
pig is both dead and lived a hellish life.
A hole in the pigs skin and hollow air rushes free.
Punted away into the woods.
Again and again.
The game starts.
The chubby guys line up and smell each others breath,
both sides scream like monsters and charge at each other,
they don’t punch each other, so it’s civilized.
The skinny guys also line up next to each other,
trying to outrun the other guy, yeah
I say guy because society is sexist but moving on,
so they try to outrun each other, one guy in an attempt
to not allow the person to catch the thin layer of pig skin.
The guy running forward tries to get the quarterback (basically
the star of the team the guy with dreamy hair and a nice body
who is either a cool guy or a ****
to toss him the hollowed out pig skin, so can run and look cool
until another “light” 180 pound guy tackles him to the ground.
The stands, all criminson red, go wild,
Fist bumping, jumping up and down, beer drowning the floor,
at the sight of the guy with the dreamy body
tossing the misshaped ball,
to the guy who just hand the wind
smashed
out of him.
Yes this is all football.
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 12:11 PM UTC
After we used to call you piglet
And after you liked celery,
After the eighth of December at eight o'clock
And after you were eight pounds eight ounces,
They took a photo of when I first held you.
You were crying your eyes out,
Like your mum was in the living room
After she found out,
Before I scurried away.
But you've grown up
In your old *** Pistols t-shirts
And your scribblings screenprinted onto new ones.
Copper hair loyally trailing behind you,
You glide around the house en pointe,
In between embroidery at noon and fashion design after lunch.
Too cool to have sushi at ten years old,
And nearly too old
To hug your big cousin without reluctance.
Like an ordinary kid.
Minding your know-it-all brother
With his resounding echos of 'youknowwhatyouknowwhat'
Making sure he doesn't burn a hole through the floor
With his new chemistry set, that he won't admit
He doesn't quite know how to use,
But will continue on nevertheless.
And you will roll your eyes.
Like an ordinary kid.
But your adenosine triphosphate,
Can barely lift it's own molecular weight
Nevermind the energy you ask it to carry.
In comparison, the ordinary ATP
Of your ordinary classmates,
Is a strongman next to your weakling cluster of N, H, C and O.
So you take your small grey spheres.
And don't drink full fat milk
And your father's taught you how to cook
And value food.
And use your nebuliser
And clean and dust and sterilise
So your glass lungs
Which clatter when you cough
Don't shatter.
And after all that
You twist your hair up in a bun
And carry on.
Not falling down the rabbit hole,
But bounding gracefully.
Like the extraordinary kid that you are, Alice.
Jul 2, 2011
Jul 2, 2011 at 7:19 AM UTC
Wrinkled lips leak twisted tales in your chiseled space between realities
The kids all listen to your great advice
Heeding your misanthropic words and singing your praises
*"How right and noble it is to feel so glum and strive to strike down smiles with the tongue
Ma looks on as the children skin Pa to the bone
Better to receive than to give"*
They scream in monotone
I sit back and watch transfixed as this transpires
Thinking on my unforgiven sins and sipping your elixir
Koolaid from the kitchen served in unwashed broken dishes
My only desire is for you to finish spinning your stories
**The lies pour forth from the intestines of a sick piglet holed up in the morgue
You couldn't be real to save your life**
Your dead eyes drip crocodile tears into my glass
I watch it mix slowly and think out loud:
"You reside in Florida so I guess its appropriate"
But every puddle has it's bottom and your breath is wasted sobbing
When you're sinking just to try and float
So if you'll shut the hell up I'll be much more than happy to slit your ******* throat
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 4:54 PM UTC
i sweat and sweat and sweat and sweat
my under arms are always wet
basting myself in my own vinaigrette
i’ll never be the cool guy in the corvette
blasting his tunes with an old school cassette
with a blonde on his right and in the back a brunette
i’ll always be this soggy piglet
you’d think i could just shower and then i’d be set
but NO! don’t you see these pits are a leaky faucet
Jan 25, 2019
Jan 25, 2019 at 4:46 PM UTC
An ounze of gold, found in a river
Assessed as a diamond, swallowed in an ocean
When we met in England.
All of Aisa is painted in platinum
Diamonds in Bankok, too sordid to be seen.
If you had rare sight, extinct 2900 BC
You may see race in the reflection of platisation
And the ability to chip it off is as harmonious as it gets.
If not superiority found you, and alimim forefathered you
To follow your blessed unique connection
Narcissus is not all around you, nor is any other God
What exists as greatness is only you.
In true great form should be existentialism
Instead you think you are untouchable
However ignorant I find it
When my mother bought me here as a piglet
She said I would always stand alone in stoicism.
Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 3:23 PM UTC
This silly ol’ dance
This silly ol’ dance
This silly ol’ dance that’s perfect for two
What does that mean
What does it hide
Its like I’m trying to open up a closed-shut mind
I try and I try
But all I can get
Is this image of you and me I will never forget
I see it now and its never been more clear
An image of you and me and it brings a tear
Not a tear of pain
Nor a tear of joy
More a tear of hope
And it makes me smile inside
To know that you’ll always be there
Like this picture in my mind
To lift me up when I’m down and to humble me when I’m high
For that is what best friends do
And best friends is what we are
And as I think of this image and what it represents
More come to my head and they all begin to mesh
Into the most beautiful picture I have ever seen
It’s a picture of everything to me that you mean
It’s a picture of friendship
It’s a picture of love
It’s a picture of happiness
And all of the above
Are what you mean to me
And what I hope to mean to you
For you are my best friend
And lucky for us that is a dance that is perfect for two
So I’ll step lightly and you twirl around
If piglet and pooh can do it so can me and you
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 8:47 PM UTC
Cycling past buisness girls on his way through Camden town
between towering grey buildings and tourists that frown
The lights turns to red and like a one legged man at the curb
he drifts off to a land that to some, seems absurb
Where honey-eyed tales of piglet and Pooh
are driven by toads tooting, **** **** poo
Peddling along the reeling, rolling,rambeling road some drunkard guy made
on famiular BBC air waves his voice often played
Through rich green ridings, wild moor and dales
2-50 stands the church clock that so sweetly never fails
Hatless on Ilkley, bathed and bathed in York
tea-time fancies at Harrogate, whilst watching like some Kes pearched hawk
Nodding and humming to sounds of the Brighouse and Rastric bands
and still finding time to paddle a little,
on sun drenched Gigglewick sands
Red turns to green as he wobbles and peddles away down Boris's yellow brick road
To Settel, for supper with
Raty
Mole
Badger
and Toad
Feb 25, 2011
Feb 25, 2011 at 8:59 AM UTC
I have never had much luck with love. Explanations only skim the surface of the sea. Always caught up on the hooks at the end of your line.
You tug on the spool and play with your food. Just reel me in. A wish on a dandelion, I get blown to the wind.
Piglet and Pooh, sweet is the honey we are destined to lose. I send kisses through the door you scream at me through.
Flourish and wither like the wrinkled crease down the heart of our family picture. Dice with the devil, cee-lo with evil. Paranoia through the peephole. High on her ego.
Jun 1, 2021
Jun 1, 2021 at 12:56 AM UTC
Put genitals in your mouth
No one bats an eye
Eat a chip off the floor
After five seconds
People lose their ****
Whirl down Cupid’s Hill
Post office bound
Island air and golden sun bars
Through moon roof
Corner pocket
Western union
Mow down island dogs
Kintaro
Please mow down as many as possible
You love dogs?
I do too.
But, no, it’s the humane thing to do
Otherwise they cry all night
With suicide eyes
But no pointer fingers to
Pull the trigger
Or tug-of-war
A baby piglet in half
Red spray painted
Toe nails
And
I lose sleep
And get nasty with
Unsuspecting writing students
All day Thursday
And
Besides
It’s not like they
Won’t be dinner for
Your neighbors
anyway
Be weary
Menwai are tricky here
Find one who is the ****
And spend your time with them
Better yet
Choose a westernized local
Someone who knows and
Respects both sides
Because
For some reason
Menwai lack any ******* semblance
Of depth and loyalty
In paradise
No, no
If you want integrity and honesty
A westernized local is the way to go
You dig
Because who knows if that
One Adonis
“Friend” of yours won’t
Keep a secret local girl friend
Locked away in his forbidden,
No trespassing 4TY apartment
And **** all the girlfriends
You confided your feelings in
For said
Statuesque Portland haling
Lawyer
“Friend”
In your apartment
Lies
Fairytales
And fallacies
Get me off this rock
If only for a weekend
On Black Coral or Nahlap
I can eat ramen for days
Ratted, greezy and
Scattered-ass ramen packs
Two Kool-aid red fingertips
Away from grasping
Something that at least
RESEMBLES confidence
And security
Because when your
“Curls and Gurls”
Best Peace Corps mate
Isn’t around to make you
Laugh till tears
Laugh at the absurdity
So that you can feel:
“At Last!
Grounded.”
You allow your brain and heart to
Meet in that covert cloud
Looming above
Decrepit Kolonia-town
But,
But:
THE TEEJ MALI says:
More free
More free
So far surviving slum and street
Wearing these scars
Just as he is meant
To be
So you know *****
Gonna be alright
Soon
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 9:23 PM UTC
I want to go outside and run till I can't run anymore and then run some more.
To run till my legs give out and I've forgotten it all.
But you can't out run your past, can you?
Sadly it follows you everywhere you go.
You can never quite forget it.
Always nagging at the back of your mind.
A steady reminder of the pain and horror.
I sit in the corner curled up rocking back and forth.
I concentrate on forgetting. Clear your mind.
Forget who you are, pretend your Winnie the Pooh being careless and trusting. Eat Huney and laugh a lot. Play with Hang out with Piglet and go visit Roo later. Be innocent.
Deep breaths..
Just relax.
Sep 23, 2012
Sep 23, 2012 at 3:26 PM UTC
*"Being an introvert in an extroverted
world can absolutely be difficult."
Came across this on some blog.
Think it's more complex to be a mediocre, an extro-intro or an intro-extro...
you can't go all out... you won't remain all in...
you're doomed to be in the twixt. Yet the middle is dangerous...
The middle of the Ocean is the deepest, the middle
of the jungle is the riskiest... the middle of the garden
of Eden doomed an entire race...
for its existence... no driver would drive freely in the middle lane,
most run to the climbing lane soon as they see it.
Some say the Earth is trapped between Heaven and Hell...
maybe we're a compound of Paradisal elements and
the rumbles of the Hades...
the pawns in the Chess between God and Satan, the Jobs in the bible of now...
I'm a Junk of all trades & I'm afraid being in between trades makes me a master of non...
I know too much and yet I know nothing... I am an extro-intro...
I go out only until the plank starts to swing the other way...
I go out until I sense the cold and quickly run back to the lukewarm
betwixt for the hot is as fatal to my kind as the cold.
Am not an Author and neither am I a poet... Am a "Poether'' or an "Auoet", Am not philosophical neither am I Theological...am "philological" or "Theolophical".
I'm trapped at the equator... I'm neither an Eskimo nor an "Antactico"...
Not Ugandan nor Kenyan... Tanzania can't claim me
but there's yet to be a concrete East African...
maybe I'm African.
My point is some people think the middle is safe...
but I believe different. it's my opinion if you want to be a piglet be one,
if you want to be a puppy be a puppy for its fatal to be a Pipet or puppet...
both are instruments... even their use is similar.
My tragedy is am in between, am a mediocre, a pother,
an opssimist, a philothopher, a ctranger or say "Ukantan".
I'm just there... Don't be caught in my place...
find a place to belong... no matter how dangerous and risky...
always choose where you lie...always strive hard to find a prowess...
Go past the lines for History remembers those who are unique...
whether for the worst or the best.
Be the last if you can't be the first...*
**Everyone will remember Mabirizi for he knew how to be the last...
And sadly everyone will remember Museveni for he's good at keeping his place.
Who will remember the one in between.
Who will remember Besigye? Who will remember the servant boy that
cautioned Achilles against fighting the Thessalonian?
Who will remember me?**
Jul 17, 2016
Jul 17, 2016 at 11:42 AM UTC
For Anastasia
*Give patience, Lord, to us Thy children
In these dark, stormy days to bear
The persecution of our people,
The torture falling to our share.
--
When we are plundered and insulted
In days of mutinous unrest
We turn for help to thee, Christ-Saviour,
That we may stand the bitter test.
-Grand Duchess Olga Nikolaevna Romanov*
Weakened by the revolutionists,
they lived their last days out simply.
Cold borscht and cabbage rolls.
The family was herded to the slaughter house.
Precious jewels and ikons sewn into their clothing,
Give strength, Just God, to us who need it.
The baby boy was butchered like a suckling piglet.
Low ceilings and dim light made it hard
to take aim and fire. Tears and prayers collided
with bullets and blood, spattered on the walls.
A thick cloud of smoke and plaster settled
upon a dynasty dead.
She raised herself from the dead,
Clawing, moaning, screaming,
stifled by blood--
Then disappeared, falling into
the abyss of immortality.
Jun 26, 2010
Jun 26, 2010 at 5:56 PM UTC
Texas dairy farm killers crushed the skulls of my holy vessels in 2011.
Their animals spirits descended to heaven.
They bludgeoned their heads as many times as 7.
My defenseless, sweet, trusting, innocent babies.
Their fate of their existence shouldn't be a maybe.
Wilbur & Bo Bo .
Should not be Bacon at breakfast with hot cocoa.
To eat what is dead is sickness unsaid.
Cattle **** the serial killers "downstairs".
Televise the video to be seen everywhere.
So caravores will start to care.
They heartlessly murdered my cows.
My cows. Mine now & forever in this time.
A life for a life.
A precious calf's life devalued, abused, disrespected, & used.
Meat has no price tag.
Like a two faced old hunchback sea hag.
A priceless life without tombstones or mourning.
This corrupt caravore world is disturbing & my empathy for the animals is pouring.
Change this mother earth in the next morning.
Father sky watches their animal spirits soaring.
****** is their hobby.
They butcher & dismember a creatures body.
Every animal belongs to me.
They have a spiritual essence I can see.
All species created are mine.
Their ****** is not okay or fine.
The killers need to do time.
I guess justice is something we have to find.
Baby cow is delicate & needs respect & love.
Baby piglet where is mommy spirits above?
Baby Lamb I love you your a baby angel.
The sinners morals are distorted & tangled.
Their bodies should be undamaged & not mangled.
Not on a death pile of other livestock.
Their revenge should be on the farmer's ****
Protect the living of these farms.
To the livestock bring no harm.
Sadistic butchers disarm.
Stop the slaughter alarm.
These creatures are precious their souls innocent.
The lives priceless & mint.
Meat industries & factory farms get a hint.
Clueless evil attacks as their back is turned.
A blow to their fragile baby head is how hamburgers are made i learned.
The dairy farmers killed my cows.
Unspeakable evil without a why or how.
The slaughter across the lands spread like a flood.
More death in the mud.
They lay on the ground in a pool of blood.
Their life drains from their lifeless bodies.
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 11:55 PM UTC
Squeals cry out as the ax smashes her guts
Dog barks loudly in multiple fears.
The man shouts, "Shut up you little mut!"
Her last breaths are heard as her eyes form crystal tears
A week later passes, the man notices his dog no longer runs
A month passes, his dog skips meals
"Papa, we must take Enzo to the vet!"cries ones of his sons
"It is obvious your dog is mourning from a loss and is suffering from PTSD" the veterinarian reveals
The worried man looks away in guilt
He quivers to continue the dialogue
Tears shed down his face as he remembers gripping the tilt
"They were best friends. Oceana and the dog. At times she surprised me for a pig how she could outsmart a dog."
A year later...
"Come along Enzo and Denver, supper's ready!"
The new piglet of the family snorts happily as the dog and his new best friend munch on their meal
"You did the right thing Papa." as his son yawns grasping his teddy
The former farmer kisses his son goodnight as he goes back to work
on his new zeal
A sign written, "Animals have a heart and soul just like humans. End all animal abuse for their kingdom is just as precious as ours."
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 2:58 PM UTC
Pickled piglet in a jar
Oh what a mystery you are.
Preserved there in your piglet brine.
You could stay young there for all time.
With your little, wrinkled, piglet nose,
And your tiny, cloven, piglet toes.
A classroom project you'll someday be,
For a student of biology.
They'll take you out and start to cut,
And open up your piglet gut.
They'll peel away your piglet skin,
And expose everything therin.
They'll open your little piglet head,
Oh well, who cares, you're already dead.
They'll remove your little piglet brain,
Thank goodness you can feel no pain.
They'll remove your little piglet eyes,
And take those apart. C'mon guys!
They'll examine all your piglet parts,
Lungs, liver, stomach, little piglet heart.
And when, eventually, they're all through,
It's to the garbage can with you!
Aug 4, 2012
Aug 4, 2012 at 2:21 PM UTC
They make me smile
Like that dimple on your cheek
It looks like a second smile
Below those two beauty spots
You do everything twice, don’t you?
It makes me laugh
When you laugh
And snort.
It’s a cute kind of snort
Not a pig, but a piglet
You’ve always been the cute one.
And you’re embarrassed to hold
My hand in public
But you still have to
When we cross the street –
An old habit
That reminds you of something
You have such a special mind
And
I love every bit of weirdness
You
Produce.
If only you weren’t making of my overly active –
Hyper-active, ADD infested, LSD tripping –
brain.
Oct 6, 2012
Oct 6, 2012 at 1:00 PM UTC
Under a jesters hat in the court of kings
is a dancing peasant before the queen
such fine robes of purple silk do I wear
fancy that.. you pretty thing.
Such splendid tea parties with the finest of ladies
conversing gaily of the weather
and other such nonsense
things I know not
What utter tripe
guttersnipe
ne'er-do-well
pouring tea
Such dainty things the tailor brings
twirling in such finery
while the little piglet powders it's nose
and calls herself pretty
May 16, 2016
May 16, 2016 at 4:09 AM UTC
when critique is about, the unsuspecting walk like peacocks, showing off the wooden dutch slacks of fear prior to criticism, forging a proof of god so debased that it would require the holocaust to have taken place.
- yes, this call is immediate, what's the severity?
- immediacy in all circumstances.
- sounds terrible.
- yep, blood in my **** too.
- ooh, dialectical diarrhoea?
- skidding at one hundred miles per hour with a popsicle swerve on the slurp.
- trafalgar sq. fountains?
- lions roaring in alabaster to the breaking of bony hinges.
- triage.
- can i see him face to face.
- no, you need to speak to him first via the triage telephone system.
- so he's the now receptionist and knows the daybreak slots with chemical compounds.
- no, thingy thingy, dum dum **** a toe, crackle fun pull a twig: we're
the receptionists, he prioritises the eventuality of a cancer advert.
- three quid down the drain?
- yes, we, the receptionists of the world will stand against the robotic onslaught!
- ****** on winter sledges.
- exactly.
- not exactly, you, receptionist, you jane, me tarzan, you book face to face, now.
- you tarzan, you straighten bananas.
- you jane, you book, appointment.
- you tarzan, you straighten bananas.
- you jane, you book, appointment, now.
- me jane, me receptionist, me on the conveyor belt of corn crop patched harvestable.
- me i.q.
- me one hundred and fifteen.
- face to face to farce.
- farce to bloke to pole.
- pole leaning on a pole.
- englishman eating a napkin.
- blackjack and ingredients for the pride of britain: vindaloo child.
- sloshed on a cricketeer's return.
- puns and cardamon cardigans of colour without scent.
- pushy apple sours coloured acid green without the mojo juice.
- spank that gimp ***** into a piglet.
- leathered up, boots on parole.
(who the hell is talking now?)
- i need to see the doctor face to face, i need my sick note to live on:
on brink of day in ultraviolet twilights, and drink.
- are you a banker?
- i'm a sick man, a beggar.
- we only provide sickness to the rich and famous.
- so what do i get?
- premature death.
- oh, can i have a bank account with that?
- oh sure, as long as you can accept debt.
- 5% like standard a.e.r.?
- no, 2000%
- so my debt interest will be crazy dizzy above my savings interest rate?
- yes.
- do you sell *** positive syringes?
- we're accommodating.
- thank you very much.
- thank you.
- goodbye morrow and marrow tight.
- bones ashore.
- **** all ahoy.
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 8:58 PM UTC
There is the bully
who is mean and bad
She laughs at us
and makes us sad
We have a name
we made for her
"Miss Piglet" is
what she is for sure
She is a bad pig
for not all of them are
Some are so sweet
the best by far
Her bad nasty ways
like pushing in the hall
throwing play-doh at us
and laughing when we fall
We call her meanie
"Miss Piglet" the crone
whose mouth is cruel
with feelings like stone
She is so much trouble
for us to bear
Her temper needs nothing
for it to flare
But we will take her one day
and tell her what we think
She will be so put down
and feel like a freak
She will be taught a lesson
on being good and kind
We will teach her how
to keep in line
Jan 28, 2012
Jan 28, 2012 at 4:38 AM UTC
"Piglet noticed that even though he had a Very Small Heart, it could hold a rather large amount of Gratitude."-- A.A. Milne
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 8:06 AM UTC
Your nose scrunches up in normal conversation. It makes you look a little bit like a piglet.
Trust me, that may sound like a backhanded compliment, but it's adorable.
When you yawn, you sound like you want to cry.
Nothing freer than you transposing your tears for the sake of singing sad songs,
To Children you've never met, as if you've never slept.
We're both a little too sure about what we eat, and
The times you sit on your hands are the days when your guts moan...
[Others would call these imperfections, but the little things are always the best parts...
Birds flapping their wings (hollow arm-bones)
Tree-roots burrow and anchor (lungs)
Grass pets your eyes]
Always busy, the words form on the tip of our toes, everything I say
Is written with our silhouettes.
Outlines pigment the natural world...
Like a horror-show,
Hallways stretch for hours
(I can not currently see out this window).
Your open sockets spill waterfalls of true understanding from a crimson sunset of genius scars,
Like open wounds of the best silence, only the sound of teeth clashing
Between stretching lips
You hook your palms into my cheeks, bones creak
Gazes reflecting thoughts, unity in unmerited shame,
Our legs conversing softly, hair intertwined (snakes on our necks), and all night...
I keep playing a triplet between your ribs
A simple arpeggio archway under moans from dead skin in light,
I hold you by the red skin, carve you, for just one moment
Until we're living art. Skin static, roots spreading wings.
No expiration date for us, just a point when our bodies no longer parallel
But after that, we speak in clouds
We paint murals for each other in abandoned city parking lots
Or empty train halls.
The moon is our vanishing point,
All eyes on craters.
My language is something undiscovered to me,
I don't know if I want to let all these words go.
You mean Reincarnation to me,
Some jaw of life, some whale's mouth.
I am snow.
Everything loses focus but the stars...
Like teenagers.
Mar 24, 2011
Mar 24, 2011 at 10:55 PM UTC