Balloons filled with argon don't float
because they are more dense than
air in a glass syringe. Inject me gingerly,
with the kiss of a scarlet butterfly, into my
veins of gold were thought to be found
in eighteen eighty-nine. They were
dead? Wrong. Just asleep, he needs his rest.
I mean, argon makes you sleepy, after all. I think.
because they are more dense than
air in a glass syringe. Inject me gingerly,
with the kiss of a scarlet butterfly, into my
veins of gold were thought to be found
in eighteen eighty-nine. They were
dead? Wrong. Just asleep, he needs his rest.
I mean, argon makes you sleepy, after all. I think.
Damn.
Fetal up, little rollie pollie.
Crawl to your corner and shrivel
Like a baby's breath flower
smashed between pressing pages.
You can't always have your way-
like Indiana Jones trapped in quicksand
without water.
Shatter, you nitrogen-covered limb.
You're too fragile. Darwin says your time's up.
"Only the strongest survive" echoes like
a lone gun-man in a high school hallway.
Bang bang, open up. FBI's here. We need to talk.
About that blood trail leading to your door.
Damn.
Crawl to your corner and shrivel
Like a baby's breath flower
smashed between pressing pages.
You can't always have your way-
like Indiana Jones trapped in quicksand
without water.
Shatter, you nitrogen-covered limb.
You're too fragile. Darwin says your time's up.
"Only the strongest survive" echoes like
a lone gun-man in a high school hallway.
Bang bang, open up. FBI's here. We need to talk.
About that blood trail leading to your door.
Damn.
Clockwork Doll.
The strings tap and
rain falls on a rusty tin roof,
rolling into my concrete ears-
taunting me with a language
I've never encountered.
A translation thunders in
only moments off cue.
Then, it disintegrates through
the atmosphere so I can absorb it.
Keys jostle up and down-
ivory connectors for the electricity.
The telephone rings, only to be hung up
with a gruff reply of "We don't want any".
Glasses cover the squinting eyes
that hide the frantic mind.
Porcelain fingers tap the teeth
of a cherry-wood monster full of ridicule.
A sour note burns a field of morning glories.
The eight year old girl freezes-
her parents wind her back up and
she keeps playing, clockwork doll.
rain falls on a rusty tin roof,
rolling into my concrete ears-
taunting me with a language
I've never encountered.
A translation thunders in
only moments off cue.
Then, it disintegrates through
the atmosphere so I can absorb it.
Keys jostle up and down-
ivory connectors for the electricity.
The telephone rings, only to be hung up
with a gruff reply of "We don't want any".
Glasses cover the squinting eyes
that hide the frantic mind.
Porcelain fingers tap the teeth
of a cherry-wood monster full of ridicule.
A sour note burns a field of morning glories.
The eight year old girl freezes-
her parents wind her back up and
she keeps playing, clockwork doll.
