The clouds move while I stay put
The thing I hate about rust is the taste. Like wet dog. Nobody likes a wet dog. I don't like wet dog.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _
After miles of scortched trees I've had enough
I think we all wear beards:
sunflowers and dilapidation;
bees and fresh honey that drips
like a red curtain; beards
made of polluted whales
like the ones you see on tv.
We wear them pretty, like some trees.
Sometimes beards get sick
and throw up white ugliness.
They itch like burnt ground.
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2 comments:
what's wrong with wet dogs anyway!
they remind me of little children eating ice cream in summer
icky in the outside, but you can't help but love them.
hahaha!
oh and ..hum
I miss you, you himbo!
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