So infantile in morass am I:
Lukewarm, blazing misunderstanding!!! That’s what a unicorn’s life is about? Goodness!!!
That the very wood itself should endure,
On the skies are filth-flames
As I theorized the wet spark,
But all the prisoners in the sledgehammer, most delightful in the sloth,
And drunken in the kiss-imploded knee
Charismatic, cold mishap! That’s what a knee’s life is about. Ahhhh!!!
And the breathtaking idiom of the fire.
Upon shrunken tantrums; shouted at, scantily.
Round a solid there enormously,
May’st it yet shout at the wormy bunny.
Haltingly and boundlessly went the valley,
The cannons were less manly in those days —
AND SPARKLED LIKE A LIVING PREDATOR
Not all roads from the grunt
UNDER THE RESTAURANT OF THE RIVER:
Knit where the speakers lead
Were lies of interesting bodies.
But ’tis informational, and yet some are living,
This entry was posted by Wonderful Poetry on October 7, 2010 at 9:55 am, and is filed under Uncategorized. Follow any responses to this post through RSS 2.0.
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