A child writes in a century

Who else but a ragged formless
horned woman could scorn
the face of science with a tasteless tongue
well laid on the map of anatomy
and fields of corn where grow molestors
and alcoholics and boys in tasteless frolic?
What but my own organs could walk
to thresholds of madness and bark at the bells
hanged from necks which twitch and turn pale
in a light called music
of which there is euphony and of which there is hell.
At the shop where broker unkept men
I play with the ribs of others
well content to be tasteless and ten
reading and reading a tasteless bend.

Poorly executed experiment.

~ by Jeremy on June 8, 2009.

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: