Wednesday, August 6, 2008

welcome to the short list of my continent

are your elbows unbearable
are your tired the same as your poor
are your wheels shaped like dusty trapezoids
are your heels already pared

go home to kettles
I've absconded on your behalf
go home to crisp cakes in a bone dead mattress
I've arranged to skitter

when it's time to take the rasp
I'll head for you
and when it's ornery we'll crow
I'll turn the turnips downsized

you are petrified again
you are paunchless
you are skeet shot depth free
you are spoken