the poet who ate paper instead of putting it in the garbage
"I leak oblique rhymes times whatever the fuck you want." He reads this off a small scrap of paper, crumples it up and then swallows it. A girl in the front row of the class with tiny piranha teeth opens her eyes wide in surprise. It looks like she is going to swallow the preceedings in front of her, but she sits motionless.
"Ghosts' lips haunt my fingertips which you don't want." Again he crumples this up with much ado and then inserts it into his poetic mouth. The English teacher at the back of the class smiles the smile she's been smiling for twenty-two years, four months, and two days. Someday she'll retire.
"Cataracts compete with clouds of smog to get front row seats in the show of your life. Wants want you." Crumple. Swallow.
But to avoid reading this anymore you dear reader take up the piece of paper that this is written on, crumple it up and swallow.
Want.
"Ghosts' lips haunt my fingertips which you don't want." Again he crumples this up with much ado and then inserts it into his poetic mouth. The English teacher at the back of the class smiles the smile she's been smiling for twenty-two years, four months, and two days. Someday she'll retire.
"Cataracts compete with clouds of smog to get front row seats in the show of your life. Wants want you." Crumple. Swallow.
But to avoid reading this anymore you dear reader take up the piece of paper that this is written on, crumple it up and swallow.
Want.
posted by kevin spenst at 4:16 PM
1 Comments:
Tara says "the poet who ate paper instead of putting it in the garbage' is beautiful, so please sign me up for that one"
Done.
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