Poetry

Never tried it, but here we go.

(Oh, and the statue is from Ozymandias)


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SOC(k)


My brain is a hunk of beef
trapped in a ziplock bag.
It floats in a bowl, filled to brim,
wrapped in the plastic sack.

My brain will kiss the slab tonight –
it’s red but soon I’ll burn:
My coke-bottle love,
my linguini-haired friend –

excuse my brash interjection, ...

I feel I create too many topics. I'm going to start posting most of my new poetry here so that others get the attention needed on the boards.



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Untitled


Her tender frame –
slick and shaped
like the personality of a cursive s.

Her shoulders,
as I saw them,
tickled with light, spaghetti hair
and breathing – naked –
in the ochre, July air.

Distance ...

in Just-

by: e.e. cummings (1894-1962)


in Just-
spring when the world is mud-
luscious the little
lame baloonman

whistles far and wee

and eddieandbill come
running from marbles and
piracies and it's
spring

when the world is puddle-wonderful

the queer
old baloonman whistles
far and wee
and bettyandisbel come dancing
...

Updated 07-11-2011 at 11:22 AM by Squalid Glass

Tags: ee cummings

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