Thursday, February 10, 2011

#41 Rummages in the id

You were laughing

And I was dying

You pierced my heart

Without even trying

*

The dancing bugs tapped away

Even as the sunlight faded

Evading the errant boot

To the fear becoming jaded

*

Little paw pots

Full of steaming ink blots

Harvested from wild squid

Hiding in your id.

*

Chasing all about

In a random room

Tripping over chairs

And smelling the occasional bloom.

*

So I saddle up my beaver

And get on the road

Searching for ponds of mud

To hunt the mighty toad.

*

I can't see beyond my own nose

Which was cut off to spite my face

So my nearsightedness doesn't matter

Nor my lack of grace.

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