To the world
I open my body to the world.
The trees are filled with wires.
The rivers are running cold.
A calm is coming.
A peace is filtered through this electricity.
I am the world cleansed of the world.
The bombs that go off in cars belong to me now.
I caress them as if they were breasts
and send them back into a distant summer.
The world is one pulsating tomato.
The world is a series of connected gardens.
I am the wind washed dirty by the world.
And the world is a 24-hour laundromat.
1 comment:
Well, hello, Askintoo!
I'm sorry that you didn't find what you were looking for. You said exactly the same thing, word for word, the last time you visited my blog. And yet, instead of further venting that frustration, you have chosen to share your joy in shopping. How delightful!
I'm not sure what it was about my latest poem that made you want to share this--
"I made over $900 last month having fun!"
--but I'm happy for you. You know what? I don't care that your comment doesn't seem related to my poem. I'm just happy that you come here to share your incredible shopping experiences with all of us. And I hope that you choke to death on your own feces.
Luke
"...if anyone here is in advertising or marketing, kill yourself. No, this is not a joke: kill yourself. I know what the marketing people are thinking now too: 'Oh. He's going for that anti-marketing dollar. That's a good market.' Oh man, I am not doing that, you fucking evil scumbags."
--Bill Hicks
Post a Comment