Thursday, December 09, 2010

Its Clockwork Poetry Baby....

Potato chip fountains on a onion dip night

A forest of rainbows rendered in black and white

Crimson blue bird drinking shasta mid-flight

everything is sunny when left field is right

Gravy Train

Can you dig that? That just happened... I’ll give you cats a second to collect your thoughts, to police your souls. To the people who don’t get “It” (as defined by the man)...

ya’ll need to catch the bus back to squaresvile cause this ride is closed.

To you poetry snobs, you defenders of form... Art has no boundaries baby... it is what it is.

1 comment:

aravan said...

*snaps fingers*