111

5 Jan

One thing,

With jaws strung with cords of slaver

and eyes sunken, blinking at the light, unfamiliar,

and drinking in the hollow victory,

Pasty, pointed, barking

Cocooned in sugar

Disguising horns and spines that find targets indiscriminately…

 

One thing, and another

that perches, ears pricked and nose prickling

on the beasty’s lap,

(hold your art history books to a mirror, ladies and gentlemen)

Oh its eyes glow with happiness

as its hair is brushed and threaded with ribbons.

Little puppy won’t cry tonight.

Not tonight.

 

One thing, and another, and another

that rears its cliché of an ugly head

and mixes itself a cocktail,

one part lime cordial to two parts self-doubt (or lemonade)

and sits and watches, not expecting

Anything At All

Probably isn’t even watching, too busy juggling or singing,

But whose fault might that be…

And is it a fault, or a design?

Something that was built with purpose and certainty,

Like a bridge, or a rocketbike.

Reversibility is a secondary trait.

 

One thing, and another, and another.

My iPod can destroy them all,

So I’ll stop worrying so much.

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2 Responses to “111”

  1. Renee January 5, 2011 at 3:56 pm #

    My favourite part was your ipod.

    • El January 6, 2011 at 12:44 am #

      My favourite part is always my ipod.

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