(no subject)
A note I took at work/the poetry reading on Sunday: "I'M LIVING THE DREAM! But I just sat on my right ball."
That really hurt.
And a thing:
"What We're Like"
Across the desert, we field whole
shebangs nimbly, spreading thumbs along the
straight lines like carpenters.
Crumbled tight down through the corridor,
there's not much to say, so we
jam on our flashlights,
which coruscate deftly.
Everything about us is deft, but hollow.
It is said that the overweight among us
should not wear vertical stripes.
That is true, but how does one wear a stripe, exactly?
It seems easier to belong to a stripe.
We build our bunks with
slaveship timber, to ease the sense of loss
upon their burning.
That said, listen close when I say,
"Our lives are bound by Scotch Tape,
and so detach every 1 1/3 weeks."
So striped, transparent grime sucking
the torchlight, our obesity is obvious.
Our loves are worth loving only because
Frank Sinatra is dead.
That really hurt.
And a thing:
"What We're Like"
Across the desert, we field whole
shebangs nimbly, spreading thumbs along the
straight lines like carpenters.
Crumbled tight down through the corridor,
there's not much to say, so we
jam on our flashlights,
which coruscate deftly.
Everything about us is deft, but hollow.
It is said that the overweight among us
should not wear vertical stripes.
That is true, but how does one wear a stripe, exactly?
It seems easier to belong to a stripe.
We build our bunks with
slaveship timber, to ease the sense of loss
upon their burning.
That said, listen close when I say,
"Our lives are bound by Scotch Tape,
and so detach every 1 1/3 weeks."
So striped, transparent grime sucking
the torchlight, our obesity is obvious.
Our loves are worth loving only because
Frank Sinatra is dead.