"ribbit" poems
There's a colonel in most every town
And chicken he does know
But the youth of today are not finger licking
They're licking of the toads
When they run out of their drugs
They must run out of their minds
When the toad lickers come a licking
Best to run and hide
Yes, they've found a brand new high
When their *** is running low
The poppy fields have all run dry
And the cow patty mushroom is no mo
The city kids head to the swamps
Just hopping at the thrill
Grabbing at amphibians
And licking them at will
With every tantalizing lick
Trippy little colors do they see
Pass around the froggy
For another lick if you please
But who am I to judge
As crazy as it looks
Could it be as bad as crack
With one lick and you're hooked
I have this nagging question though
That bothers me to this day
Who was the first to lick the toad
And say this taste okay
~ribbit~
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 6:55 AM UTC
There was a fly who only had one eye.
He lived a simple life on the River wry.
One day the fly with only one eye began to cry.
I'm very lonely he said to himself, I feel as though I've been left on the shelf.
From out of nowhere an Elf appeared, an Elf who had only one ear.
Your not alone the Elf did shout, come on over let's hang out.
The Fly with one eye flapped his wings and said loudly so the Elf with one ear could hear, I'm going to try to fly to the other side of the river wry.
The Elf with one ear said do not fear I'll be your eyes and you'll be my ears.
But half way across the Fly with one eye gave a big sigh and said to the Elf with only one ear, I do fear that I will not finish the ride to the other side of the river wry.
Do not fear said the Elf with only one ear. With my perfect eyes I can see that half way across in the middle of a bog on a log are a frog and bee, surely they will help me.
The Elf with only one ear shouted loudly to the frog and bee, can you please help me?
The frog and the bee shouted back "gladly". But the Elf who only had one ear could not hear the reply from the middle of the river wry.
The Fly with one eye heard the reply and shouted as loudly as he could muster "the frog and bee have agreed gladly to help you and me"
The Elf with one ear was relieved to hear this and set about outlining his plan.
The Fly with one eye would flap his wings and start his trip across the river.
The frog would jump up and down on his lily pad and make a noise which sounded like ribbit, ribbit, the Fly with one eye and the Elf with one ear would use the frog for direction, tuning into it.
Once the Fly with one eye had passed the frog by the bee would set about buzzing loudly, the fly with one eye and the Elf with one ear would follow the buzzing to the edge of the river.
The plan worked the Fly with one eye gave a shout hip hip hip hooray.
The Elf with one ear gave three cheers and the frog and the bee clapped merrily.
Hooray said the Fly with only one Eye and the Elf with only one Ear, let's get all our friends together and bake a cake to celebrate.
The Fly with one eye looked at his friends and knew that life would never be quite the same now he could count on his new found friends, the Elf with one ear and the frog and the bee were like one big family.
Sep 2, 2017
Sep 2, 2017 at 5:40 PM UTC
He knows what lies below.
This is where it all began: here
Beneath the bubbling sludge and ******* mud.
This is the home brew, the cocooning grounds.
His sturdy boots trudge through,
Hefting questions and glasses askew.
Somewhere to the side a fat swamp prince
Composes bog rhymes in ribbit meter.
Each squelching step sets a buzzing bunch
Of crystal dragons zipping away to
Slick peridot pontoons. A loon swoons
The expeditioner with a sobbing cry. He
Has said goodbye to reservations, to the
Long-dead preservation rights. He slogs through
The buzzing night. Yellow daggers clench
Between scaly steeltrap snappers and stones
With eyes blink in languid surprise, unnoticed.
He is lost, dying, unsure of his quest. He needs a
Cure. He knows it lies here, in the beginning place.
Their faces haunt his deathly guts and crush
His straining heart with need - need for the solution.
Need to survive, to prolong his life - alone!
So alone: the last. If only he could rest.
His nostrils quiver with the homesick stench
Of tails becoming legs and nipping lips sprouting
Sticky tongues. The answer, he is here for the
Only answer. Something below, below, down
In the dredges of history - in the slime of
Centuries, rotless and preserved. He will find it:
Some link, some closer thing he can revive
And test and rest as bedrock for his life.
A foot sticks in the overfriendly tar. No,
He will not pause. He has come too far.
In the birthing grime, some hungry memory wakes.
It knows what lies above, it thirsts to cease it.
It reaches, roils, pulls, rips with smelly squish-fingers -
Thirsting and thirsting to slake. It longs to reveal
To show, to make known to the traveler.
(All he has searched for is found here, it knows,
Organized and close. Held and safe below)
It reaches, grabs - thirsty - presses him into
A false step. A slip. A skritching clipboard
Of statistics curses in rustling indignance
As it flutters to the mud above a splattered head.
Science-frozen lungs fill with dread -
With life-giving peat. (It will show him) He ***** in
And burbles out a scream. (what he wants, show him)
This is where it begins, (this is his dream!) where it ends.
Now he knows what lies below. He lies - curled -
Quenched from growth. The eyes of unnoticed
Stones blink in surprise. Soaring swamp lyrics
Rise, a loon swoons with a sobbing cry.
He curls in peace and drifts alone
Now he knows what lies below.
Sep 30, 2010
Sep 30, 2010 at 7:10 PM UTC
wee ribbit, hoppin, daftie beastie
a rebber baind is in tha breastie
thou needs but waindie baindie up
and off tha hop
i *** be laith to rin an chase thee
tha niver stop
wee hoppin freggie tha smal laigs
is baitter spring than sailver stail
but i wud giv ye this advaice:
dinna tak a chance
some think tha laigs a taestie meal
dinna *** ta france
nu laieth flattie en the wa'
laik paice o' paeper gon astra'
nae mair tha hoppin in the aer
sae daft an barmy
the ainly fewture fair thee now
is origami
Dec 30, 2011
Dec 30, 2011 at 1:21 AM UTC
The caterpillar was of many steps,
The millipede was of many more,
Both were
Long,
Rhymed
Feet
Did collectively tap dance on the floor,
They thought to have a race
Millipede said,
I have feet that move swift and fast"
"While you have many less"
"This is a Race that'll be over fast"
The race would start around four,
Tick,
Tock,
Tick,
Tock,
So the millipede did wait,
And wait,
Waiting some more,
The race was to the top of the tree,
Milli as her friends called her,
Cat,
Caterp,
Caterpillar
Where, when will this race start anew
Then upon a stick,
Do
Not
Disturb
Milli gave a funny look,
Cats friend said
"She was resting before the race began"
So Mille said to each and those around,
"Wake me when she comes around"
And so the day ended a new one began,
And as it approached four once again,
A yawn heard from inside,
As Milli did run as quick as she could
Ok start the race,
"Ribbit"
Shouted the frog
The race did begin,
And many feet did move, dust seen as
These many feet did move like the wind,
Cat did wake and stretched out wide
As her wings caught sunlight
Am I late, did it begin,
Beauty,
Colour,
Grace
Was seen with each flap of her wings,
In to the air she did gently glide
As for Milli
She laughed
"HaHaHaha"
As she reached the roots of the tree,
"No one is faster on there feet but me"
Cat took her time
Floated,
*Glided,
Soared
High with the wind, her delicate touched
Bark and leaf, crossing the finish line
Upon delicate Feet,
Moments later Mille appeared
"Who"
"Are"
"You"
Milli confused at what was seen,
"I am Cat its plain to see"
And Milli angrily said
"This isn't fair"
"Cheated am me"
"Never cheated, with feet i crossed"
"Its only because you saw on the outside|"
"Not what was truly me"
And Milli did speak quietly
"I judged you less"
"I judged you weak"
"All because I had more feet"
I will learn this lesson well,
"It is not always what is seen on the outside"
"It is what is on the inside that counts"
You had beauty where i saw none,
But now you stand before me and
"I am sorry"
For the way I treated you,
Can we still be friends
Cat did answer we were always Friends, silly milli,
So milli ran and cat flew off,
lessons now learned on how to treat me and for me to treat you.
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 4:36 PM UTC
Summon us the rain yet
With the drums that we recall I
Am the corresponding return
Beautiful lunar and thunder to
A rhythm where all seasons of the
Different viewpoints even ugly in the winter
Are holding up the Universal land
An outer space pond having
Baptized resurrection of acceptance in a chosen
Life-cycle that changes all of the
Symbols through your travels which are heavy.
Changes also equal to soul art
Echo countless metaphors of the
Mindless croaking bond.
Teach in us the thanksgiving of
Heaven's harvest and every single thing
That brings a drunkenness and promise of
Choristers with hymns on stone
For a prolonged life is in and of
What solid reawakening has fortuned deep within upon this earth.
Renewed as well returned I
Carry lucky charms and find that I am
Known in other words bound
With the Spirit to
An ancient stand
That is encountering such places found under
Forces much much before the
Egg existed in a frozen
Past lone part of all creation much much before the thorn
Grew from the rose bush you were jumping by
Far down the brook of evolution where the
Message that you ribbit warm or cold
Is soon discovered befriending those of heart and hearth
As we all listen to your lessons and
The magic song revival that you sing
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 1:36 AM UTC
When the pale Luna, goddess of the night,
Her silver blanket did upon the pond cast,
While gliding along the inky sky,
Near to the milky stretch-mark of stars
(Sign that the Universe is our mother)...
The air was thick with the violin symphony of crickets.
Beneath the knotted hair of a willow tree
A campfire, asked to dance by the breeze,
With sheer joy crackled and sparkled
At the sight of the petal-faced imps.
In a foolish manner, one prodded the other:
"Go you and kiss a frog on the nodding!"
Wanting to impress his comrade,
He sprung up like a grasshopper off the ground,
And like a fox pup disguised himself in the reeds.
There, his torch revealed two sinister gleams,
A low CROAK and RIBBIT RIBBIT came with them.
The boy jumped and caught the wet ball of slime,
It protested in his cherub hands and wriggled in vain.
He moved his puckers closer to the little being,
Nature is the one who likes a good teasing,
He kissed it on head,
Then froze with dread,
The frog was a toad and the taste was displeasing.
Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 3:12 PM UTC
- Haiku Sequence
(For Mr.N. Of O' S)
Empty field except
clouds grazing at its centre
somewhere far off...sheep.
*
Empty field except
for the colours green...blue & white
creating a scene.
*
Empty field except
for the silence being shattered
by the big dog’s bark
*
Empty field except
invisible voices call
“Where are you..? ” “I’...lost! ”
*
Empty field except
for an oversized unseen
big green frog: “...ribbit! ”
*
Empty field except
for a cow exiting now
the scene by a tail
*
Empty field except
for a cow now entering
the scene by a nose
*
Empty field except
for the well concealed couple
making out in hedge
*
Empty field just
waiting for us to come in
to keep it in mind
*
Empty field full now
with clouds, a sheep’s bleat, laughter
& two lowing cows
*
Empty field full to
the brim with such memories
colouring it in.
*
Field empty now
because we have left...does it still
exist...now we’ve gone?
*
Clouds migrate from field
to field occasionally
getting caught on top
of people’s heads in photos
or trapped in a mesh of trees.
*
DEER PARK
Mountain empty of people
but somewhere...invisible voices
Buddha’s rays penetrate dense forest
greener again...illumination of lichen.
*
DEAR PARK
Tourist mountain people & their litter
everywhere to be seen...obscenely obese.
Old poem in my hand penetrates my mind
its words an illumination of green lichen.
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 7:48 PM UTC
Wait, go back
Go back!
It's not over yet!
It didn't end like this.
I know it. I know it.
I know this story,
I've read these lines.
Next you're supposed to say
" "
Or some other witty, beautiful words
that drown me in my guilt.
And I'll just stutter and stammer
and trip over my words like
that time in May
when you tripped on that root
on our hike in New Hampshire.
I hand you a lollipop.
What the **** Why
would I hand her a lollipop?
I hand you a bleeding heart
and you examine it.
You **** it.
You write your name on it and
carefully - HAH! - horrendously you force it down my throat.
Swallow.
But after all of this,
I still know that in this twisted
ass-backwards, convoluted world
I am still head over heels for you.
I'm still the same, perfectly sane, guy you knew before.
Ribbit.
Nov 19, 2012
Nov 19, 2012 at 11:42 AM UTC
Wee ***** Tadpolly
Never knew who his
mom and dad were
He had always heard
that they had croaked
in the middle of the night
. . . ribbit . . .
Mar 30, 2017
Mar 30, 2017 at 3:01 AM UTC
I ran away and started a new journey
Caught myself in a peculiar story.
Been to different places and found myself startled
Obscured, grotesque, melancholic, and bleakly mottled.
Meeting different people, but never got the chance to stay
Mind fickle and heart let astray.
But then, I understand now how it feels
Of these surrounding silent hills.
All those stirred up feelings gave me nostalgia
But aren't you in spasmodic sequence of amnesia?
Alas, reality throws me up in all that regression;
It teared up my obsession.
Then there goes a series of flashbacks;
It occured to you all of the setbacks.
And oh, I remember a certain old man,
Told me a something about a plan.
With conviction, he said, "Maktub, it is written;
Those who can see and listen,
One's fate has been predestined
To those who is good and sinned."
"Young one, it is about time for you,
Know all that is true
And seek to discern for your true happiness.
"Well, I say "That's intense!"
Then as I pondered on this old man's wisdom,
**** that old geezer is just random.
But what he said did make sense,
If BMW is better than Mercedes-Benz.
Though it may seem easy for him to say it,
My mind went into a frog's "ribbit!"
How vague is it to listen to such hearsay;
The horses neigh and the hearsayers, nay.
Life is giving me much more farce
Though the sarcasm is all so scarce.
Oh, I give up cause it's better to be at home
With my friend Gary the gnome.
Now I know it's better to return
Than travel further the world that is too stern.
It's all but you I see is missing
In a picturesque abode with me, kissing.
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 6:57 AM UTC
I dropped her off on the other side of the city
Lights blur past my window
And I lose focus
A different kind of space travel
I don’t know why I drove here instead
The house on Ellen
I had always imagined it as a sad thing
Keeping the shape of comfort
Waiting lonely for me to come back to it
The shattered window
And the holed walls
The singed edge crop-circle in the living room carpet
I broke in
The place smelled new
Like fresh paint
And good credit
I am not a vandal
But these places don’t feel like home
Unless something has been broken
Tonight
It was just a lock
My tires hugged the road like it didn’t want me to be there
Like hydroplaning without the rain
And every red light turned green
Just after I hit the breaks
Like a bully placing a hand on my chest and then saying
“Nah, I’m just ******* with you. Keep on going.”
There’s this place I sleep most nights
Only
I am still in the parking lot writing this
And I don’t want to go upstairs yet
By my parking place
Frogs ribbit
They sound content
Though they live along the water drainage line that seems like a stream
Only there are more flies and crickets to eat here
Home is a funny place
So I have decided this
Not that I believe in God but
I’ve decided
His hands are as big as the world
So big it is easy to feel like no one is holding you
Even when you're being hurled a million miles an hour
And maybe that is why I feel I have no home
I mean
Hold me like you are small too
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 4:31 AM UTC
Hey, did you ever notice how the stars shine
when you're not around?
How the wind blows—
encrypted with notes of your lies.
Pluck the string and give in.
The pollen on my nose is such a sin.
You call her name, that star of yours,
but before long she'll burn out,
don't you know?
The seed we planted, you refused to sow.
The spit and spatter of the faucet
leaves me wondering.
Comb the gel out of your hair,
and rub the burning lipstick off of your neck.
Lie down, close your eyes, and dream of this wreck.
Thunder calls as the clouds roll in.
Creak, tap, creak, tap.
Soon you'll be in Alaska—
out of sight, out of grasp—
way too far from here.
Reflection reveals fear.
River currents and broken promises.
Autumn's red leaves kiss the ground.
A bark, a neigh, a quack, a ribbit—
all the same.
The branches of tomorrow have become
weak, limp, lame.
You know, they don't shine for you anymore.
You came on stiff and strong—
only to let them down.
But as time calls and the future whispers,
memories of you will be yesterday's news.
As unimportant as a finite bruise.
Jan 7, 2010
Jan 7, 2010 at 8:50 AM UTC
I heard a frog ribbit
And decided to **** it
That's when I filled it
With my drill bit
And it turned into a dead prince
I regretfully winced
My hands I rinsed
And moved on
There's a mass grave in my backyard
Like an *******
I never thought it would go this far
It's a hassle
This giant hole
From acting cold
It's filled with princes and thieves alike
In this pit there is no light
No wrong or right
Only useless fights
And sleepless nights
As the bodies start stacking
My suitcase I start packing
But ambition to leave I'm lacking
So it's the wall I'm smacking
As the hole behind me gets bigger
My finger is on the trigger
Shooting at the deceased
Like they have a zombie disease
That restricts righteous release
This grave is swallowing my house
Yet I just keep wallowing around
Muting the surrounding sounds
That remind me of hell hounds
Barking from below
Regret they bestow
When they could've been golden retrievers
Instead they flung their molten cleaver
Their searing liquid knife
Causes my insipid strife
When the droplets stab holes in my skin
And then start burning me from within
Their weapon may not be solid
It doesn't matter what you call it
It hurts me all the same
So I try to forget their name
I dug my own grave
Now I must lie in it
But when everybody lies
That doesn't seem like such a big deal
When in this world it's hard to tell what's real
Especially the emotions people make me feel
When I have things they're looking to steal
So I **** them in my mind
But they take pieces of me
I'm running out of time
Which definitely isn't free
It's the main commodity
They seek to take off of me
That's why I must bitterly bury them
But my conscience continues to carry them
Dec 6, 2017
Dec 6, 2017 at 4:50 AM UTC
The way I read your mind
Is the same as sign language in your poetry?
*Poetry is the chiseled marble of language;
It’s a paint-spattered canvas - but the poet uses words instead of paint,
and the canvas is you:*
You borrow a phrase, and hanged it like a gibbet,
That meant nothing for us: it was so ribbit ,ribbit
You sat there on the log and watch as the frogs
Jump from Lilly pad to lily pad: in the dusky fog
The frozen frogs’ moves, your words croaked
we decipher your deepest fears,
so why do you filled the pond with the splashing tears?
Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 8:30 AM UTC
And that was all another story,
Now bed my little eggs
As A Hundred And One
Little eyes shut tight,
Night,
Night,
Eggs Sleep
Eggs Grow
Eggs we love you so
So they slept
Morning Shimmered
Like a blanket lifted
A Hundred And One
Eyes awoke
"Mum"
"Mum"
Above Bubbles frothed
With each
POP
POP
POP
Was heard faint whispers
Of a
croak
ribbit
A Hundred And One times
If didn't lose count??
Mother out of breath
Hopping,
Jumping,
"What is it my many children"
All at once
A TAIL WE DO HAVE
My little ones, that was the story
"Of which I spoke"
But I guess
A Hundred And One
Were playing spot the egg
And not listening to what
RIBBIT mother said,
You wait till tomorrow
My young
Now go out and play,
So they rushed and played
Till the glow in the heavens sank down
Beneath the ponds gaze,
Now bed my little ones
Growing up so fast,
As a hundred a one
Little eyes shut tight,
Night,
Night,
Tadpoles Sleep
Tadpoles Grow
Tadpoles we love you so
Morning broke not as before
The racket from above
They awoke
A Hundred And One
Ran with tail between there legs
MOM,
MOM,
MOM,
All were afraid of the unknown
"Children, children"
She softly ribbited spoke,
"It is but water"
From up high and then
Drips from the clouds,
To down Below,
"Fear not my young ones"
She spoke,
And the day was noisy
And a mess did they make
But to bed early they went
An early morning
You all must wake,
As a hundred a one
Little eyes shut tight,
Night,
Night,
Frogs Sleep
Frogs Grow
Frogs we love you so
And It was Just reached
Dawn,
She softly spoke
Time to wake
Babies no more,
You are grown up
!!Its time to go!!
"Go where mother"
"To the world beyond the pond"
Life is ever moving
And so you must move on
Be brave my little
Ribbits,
&
Ribbets,
For your life is just a
Hop,
And a
Jump,
Away,
Find your damp patch,
My Hundred And one
And then make it your home..
For you are not children ribbet any more.
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 4:48 PM UTC
A summer day,
warm and comatose.
One where algae festers in ponds
and frogs ribbit and jump
at the buzz of dragon fly ***
Bugs and sweat thrive on these kinds of days
but the grass browns slowly under a shrouding sunny ski.
Bodies feel loose and lazy,
like jazz,
and words don't form as easily.
We scratch ourselves instead
and sit real far apart.
Hunger reduces to nothing
and our torsos taper and stretch.
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 5:15 PM UTC
Pasts of myself
Reflecting off the bookshelf
A naked truth of original sin
That every time I look
I can't help but laugh
In time there was a truth
And in present there is only this
A hope to see you again
A breathe where there is no
Exhale or inhale
Only the breathe you were made
To believe was real
Sitting atop my bookshelf
Sits the faces I cannot recognize
In dreams they come back to me
So I know I will never be free
Each birthday the shadow of celebration
Makes my heart tear when names mentioned
All forgotten
Where once I was near walking
And dreams are
The oil that slicks the road
The ribbit inside the toad
The unmentionable code
A crazy pattern not sewn
Sick tired suffering nodes
Realizing that no one ever really knows
There the faces float
Each eye a time long past
And though moments pass fast
With struggle the warmth wanes
Bringing a pain that dances profane
Pain doth not mean an untimely death
For these faces do not bring life's theft
Start anew from a new bookshelf
Touch a heart that has not yet been felt
Mar 9, 2012
Mar 9, 2012 at 2:39 AM UTC
In a jungle, A frog started fighting with a rabbit because the rabbit was mad the frog didn't stop calling his name.
"LETS FIGHT " the rabbit says,
"Ribbit" , says the frog...
Feb 16, 2016
Feb 16, 2016 at 6:04 AM UTC
Dance with me in this sea of despair.
A clutter of darkness in the air.
Float in the river among the trees.
Let your body swim with ease.
Melodies are endless.
But here the emptiness holds no music.
Show me your fragile hands
The sun will not sit on land.
Prance towards the moonlight
There are no stars in the skies tonight
No place for a prince
The frogs ribbit in harmony
Soon the sky will fall
The prince began his call
Everything sleeps in the black
He keeps his voice in tact.
Oh Princess sleeping in your lair
Dance with me in this sea of despair.
Dec 10, 2011
Dec 10, 2011 at 10:46 AM UTC
Blurred and twisted my world is shifted it's not the same
I'm off my flip, I feel cold like a coffins frame
my spaces change..and so do the faces names
All is engraved..still the same.. are features that have haunted ever since I was a minor...
What does he speak of is it really that minor?
I indoor spit quick metaphors heavy-ore then a cave of iron ore..pre-historically historical am a tech-dinosaur..
am kind of a connoisseur...I think of often more...and mostly for specifics..open doors to find the leak of crickets.
speak of what we eat I call it cheese and bisects...you must be getting jumpy I can hear the ribbit's
Mash up little snippets simple digits...words and phrases I'm a chemist chemically inclined, Mentally declined.
I think she needs space so I say read between the lines. Squeeze a lemon from a lie call it sit-trust..to double check please elect a witness.
Now get shocked like a hit stick...flipped with my mines thoughts that are clouds which pass then precipitate...rain drops fall down to participate in the puddle...
Instant is a rebuttal...quicker then space vacuums..or a blast from a space shuttle...hmm it's all subtle..suddenly coming by as if it were to apply to my simple human vibe.
Who is you...who am I? That is thee outstanding surprise, I speak to leap with a pride that wouldn't normally subside in my daily life...rarely I speak I just leak what I have inside.
If this catches your interest great..if not...well better luck next time...here take a glove..try to catch my next line_____________________________
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 11:23 AM UTC
1.
You sit on your stoop
And you listen.
You sit on your stoop
And you breathe.
You sit on your stoop
And you take in.
You sit on your stoop
You don't leave.
2.
A car comes down the block and you fill it with ambivalence
There are artifacts of previous tenants in your walls.
Whatever you do you can't stop the faint buzz of the sun
Or the rattling of your morning coffee.
One on one.
3.
One on one you lie back to the marble.
You drift off to sleep in the end.
You can't help you don't look you're unable,
You throw the frog away in the end.
The croak drove you crazy and the tongue made you cringe
But there was something of value...
You don't think, I can't think, in the end.
4.
You squeeze and you pry
You don't listen.
You drag and you moan
You don't breathe.
You curl and you sigh
You don't take in.
You plot and you play
You just leave.
5.
You have anxieties like pop rocks
Once they fizzle down you accept another
Handful.
In the end.
The frogs in the bin but it's ribbit breaks through
And the spread of its tongue still reaches me.
Aug 8, 2017
Aug 8, 2017 at 11:31 AM UTC
frog skin pickle with my
82% milk fat french croissant
"ribbit ribbit, mon croissant flakey?"
"Oui, et ma peau est en cuir du marais,
Et mes jambes ont le goût de poulet".
"le vert de mon visage cache bien dans l'herbe"
"Oui, Oui, parce que vous êtes un amphibie"
"What are you with such a souple, épluchée dorée?"
"Moi? Je suis le travail de mains amoureuses
I tear apart to feed your taste for metamorphosis."
Jun 2, 2017
Jun 2, 2017 at 2:10 PM UTC