(no subject)
It is the keen of a witchbaby
left on a moor to
quickly wither, to rot,
to disperse spoors, and to cull mold
until it can curl back and root down into
the wicked step earth mother
who was summarily pronounced
guilty of hocking it up
in the first place.
It is the mingled high whines that rose
when the lawnmower and the landscaper argued
because the one made of flesh thought
that the grass was still a quarter of an inch too high and
the one made of metal thought the lawn was just fine and
their game of rock paper scissors meant that
someone lost a fist.
It is fireworks in thin Himalayan air,
it is an overzealous car alarm with kids to feed,
it is a whale getting a colonoscopy,
birds becoming bored and then extinct. Or
it is the sound of a rape whistle
Echoing off the dark walls
Of an abandoned house
In an empty neighborhood
The sound of a whistle
In loud whinnies and then spurts and
then choked and now silent.
It is, It is.
left on a moor to
quickly wither, to rot,
to disperse spoors, and to cull mold
until it can curl back and root down into
the wicked step earth mother
who was summarily pronounced
guilty of hocking it up
in the first place.
It is the mingled high whines that rose
when the lawnmower and the landscaper argued
because the one made of flesh thought
that the grass was still a quarter of an inch too high and
the one made of metal thought the lawn was just fine and
their game of rock paper scissors meant that
someone lost a fist.
It is fireworks in thin Himalayan air,
it is an overzealous car alarm with kids to feed,
it is a whale getting a colonoscopy,
birds becoming bored and then extinct. Or
it is the sound of a rape whistle
Echoing off the dark walls
Of an abandoned house
In an empty neighborhood
The sound of a whistle
In loud whinnies and then spurts and
then choked and now silent.
It is, It is.