03 November 2004

more stupid little (incomplete) poems found in said three year old notepad


all rush and wind
is the body that lays in love
shifting through fragments of thought
for the core of that feeling

a turn of phrase
is handy for
escaping from
all violent foes

( i.e. if you can talk good you can confuse the motherfucker who wants to pound your head to naan bread, to the point where you can just leg it, innit. )

outwit the wittless
unsubtle fools
that darken light
of shining minds
with stupid feet
and ignorant fists
they beat the path
and crack the sky
they scratch the skin
and spill the words
on poisoned soil
without a thought

( that's all folks! )