Monday, March 21, 2016

Question: Help us celebrate #WorldPoetryDay!

Okay!


Subjective


Once when I was a dreamer in a dream
I shot a star and it fell from the sky
I tasked myself with digging out a gobbet of its flesh


The piece of star I swallowed whole
It sunk into my marshy guts
and the light was soundly trapped


Sadly when I shit it out
the star had entirely lost its lustre
Just a black knot in a log


It didn't even struggle to survive when I flushed
I guess stars aren't so magical after all
And poetry is subjective as fuck


Short Answer: The true celebration was that I had sex with a smelly, old John Keats collection! The paper was gravelly! Wheeeee!


"My imagination is a monastery and I am its punk." - John Keats/Me

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