Waiting for the paint to dry
I read poems by some old, recently dead guy
The sirens wail in the distance And I’m still salty about
the election results
It’s going to be hot as dicks today
It’s always hot as dicks
As I grow frustrated with the monotony of this city
There’s always another musician, chirping like a hungry bird
Pay attention!
Pay attention to me!
I eat bugs!
I’m fucking hungry!
My story is really sad!
And they never realize: I am a hungry owl.
Who is trying to sleep off this day, so I can make a kill
tonight.
What I see when I look at these hungry birds is beyond
description.
It is not meant to be put into words.
In owl terms—
I want to maim their fragile frames,
then swallow them whole.
Where I will return to my nest and vomit up their partially
dissolved corpses
To feed my ego
In misconceptions of the future.
from the other side of the harbor
I feel a vicious wave
rising in me like a tide
paralleling clustered the traffic patterns
on an idle Friday afternoon
from the other side of the harbor
I feel a vicious wave
rising in me like a tide
paralleling clustered the traffic patterns
on an idle Friday afternoon
No comments:
Post a Comment