Sleep, that dirty bastard; always evading, always fucking shit up.
I write nonsensical "poetry" when I can't sleep.
On the Art of Escapando:
Great bubbles of air
Up the esophagus
Caught in the throat
Jailed: fer yer own good
Really
They're just squatters here
Yet they shall not, cannot
Go!
So they grow, they grow
And still
I say, they shall not go
Oh dear....
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I write nonsensical "poetry" when I can't sleep.
On the Art of Escapando:
Great bubbles of air
Up the esophagus
Caught in the throat
Jailed: fer yer own good
Really
They're just squatters here
Yet they shall not, cannot
Go!
So they grow, they grow
And still
I say, they shall not go
Oh dear....
Read More
VIEW 8 of 8 COMMENTS
Nonsensical poetry just so happens to be one of my favorite kinds of poetry