deepundergroundpoetry.com
I smoke Dope.
The inflated possum that dwells in the mirror,
Chip’d teeth and legs torn akimbo,
Sewn up sleeve of furry
Mumbo jumbo.
She says
‘Do not blame the jilted edge,
Oh snappy crystal, vain and trans-
Lucent looking glass.
It is not the mirror that,
Is inaccurate, as a matter
Of fact, it is your peepers,
Fleshy tower-guards that squish in
Your barracks.
It is their rotting notion,
Infirmary blink,
Not the reflection.
That does you ill.
Chip’d teeth and legs torn akimbo,
Sewn up sleeve of furry
Mumbo jumbo.
She says
‘Do not blame the jilted edge,
Oh snappy crystal, vain and trans-
Lucent looking glass.
It is not the mirror that,
Is inaccurate, as a matter
Of fact, it is your peepers,
Fleshy tower-guards that squish in
Your barracks.
It is their rotting notion,
Infirmary blink,
Not the reflection.
That does you ill.
Published 2nd Aug 2010
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likes 2
reading list entries 1
comments 5
reads 1053
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Anonymous
2nd Aug 2010 3:29am
Another mini-masterpiece. Once again, you take a simple idea and inflate it into an epic orgasm of language; each metaphor sizzles like fresh steak. Gorgeous. If Sylvia Plath smoked dope, she'd probably write something like this!
2nd Aug 2010 6:06pm
3rd Aug 2010 00:55am
"Fleshy tower-guards that squish in
Your barracks."
This line is just fucking great.
Your words roll deliciously over themsleves.
Your barracks."
This line is just fucking great.
Your words roll deliciously over themsleves.
5th Aug 2010 12:24pm
21st Aug 2010 2:55pm
