Tuesday, January 25, 2011

2-line poetry

(basis: little to no abstractions)

i am but a simple mechanism taken advantage of
invented by a dead corpse with a name


smoke-laced conversations under fading bulbs
whiskied souls floating down the river Lethe


broken fragments of a wine glass glittering under wide eyes
a pair of cocks, beak to beak, vying for the cry to the rising sun


shit grins from within a toilet
chagrin to desire to dig it back up


hair that stands on end and pricks when the skin crawls
under coverlets that should protect the mind's wit