Saturday, 31 October 2015

Pink slime

Round faces sagging cheeks vigorous 
Like sinking ships
Black hair, mop hair
Barking dry on flat stomachs  

Sailing deprived of wind
A sad sense of humour
Alligning a deep voice
Burying fear inside sound pulsations
Producing muttered music

A counterfeit inside the throat of darkness 
A frog suffocates
Its blood green
Guts slime of dramatic nature
Long nails on short fingers
Tearing the tissue
This is what the tunnel gets for being fake

From naked trees
A crow takes flight and dies midair
Stop talking shit he’s still alive
In another nest
With his other wife

A worm for a worm
Slithering in the dirt
What a boring life who live in fear
The feather and flight
They’re a peaceful species
No need for war
No need for eye
The egos of I's

What is it like to get stepped on 
All the time, your pink little spines
What is it like
To feed off our rubbish
Or die instantly
When concrete is poured