…chomping

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She’s got holes in her skin

where feathers used to be.

Mind full of wisdom

full of verse

but she’s been cursed

it was a witch on a volcano top:

Gypsy warlock, new-age mage.

No coins, no water, just plastic

like all the other body parts

chowed down by ocean worms

microscopic danger

like premonitions

chewed up body parts and chipped faces

no lips and noses, eyes and ears,

holes, crevices, craggy forms,

plugged up feather holes

filled with a million dead rabbits

from a million

false-bottom top-hats

as only the ancient grin and clap

in sweet oblivious ignorance.

Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *