The full-on pragmatic snap of the oyster
is sometimes the only thing we can truly feel.
When sitting with the other fools, I too am distracted by shiny lights through the bottles of vodka and such.
The master stroke of our creation
Is how we never really eat the way we should.
Vegetables are green. Tea is red.
Fools are brown.
My shit is tight (say what? say what?)
Everything I am is echoes.
At what point did I stop learning and start
repeating?
Repeating…
I resonate with these fools
On such a bombastic and spectral frequency.
Ha ha ha...brilliant! I hear you though, at least some of the time. Will check out Tom Robbins. Check out this one I wrote. http://caterpillarcafe.blogspot.com/2011/09/poem-black.html
ReplyDeleteLove the last two lines of the poem.
Yes, at what point did we stop learning and start repeating... =]
ReplyDelete