Saturday, May 14, 2005

saturday is tiswas day

the scrawl imprint,
the lug held for a bouncing baby with stars all around,
yet not yet a gain.

insiders smash it
lego builders unstick it
back to bits and no bits
ons and offs

puff in a puff of puff
dead eyes
6th eye or 7th eye
spilling my guts out of my Nthe ye
* marks the spot

shit talks shit sees shit touches shit smells

carry on carry on,
I've said it before
the souls of our feet,
the fundament where resides our sacred eye.
we lean on lean on,
rest on, thump on push down on, repress
and what do we protect and savour?
the petty eyes that see,
the hungry hole that devours,
the tongue that opines excess static,
and those fiddling fingers that meddle,
ten aspergers ganging up on an innocent world.

but the thud of feet, the smear of shit,
these unappreciated, derided aspects
I've said it before
If shit could TALK it would speak
of a journey, an earthly journey,
a cycle ride, a warm wormy waddle,
and the feet the toes that talk and
smile at you if you let them,
Hallo toes , talk to them ,
just try it, you'll see their smiles,
neglected babies finally acknowledged.
With that experience under your belt,
Its time to undo your belt and commune with
the fecal wisdom.
The turd of ages, listen and learn.
Become the ringmaster of your own inner circus.

No comments: