I am a fetus in a goldfish bowl
father to a feathered dusters period pain
as the string of rage reels me in and joins in the serenade
as a rampant rabbit walks upon my guilt in secluded caves;
soldiers on a hike of thirteen miles
with landmine knives cutting through the bruises on my chin
chocking on loves whispers
as my premature sperm glistens and curtsys on its\' meeting of precautionary skin;
naked for the threadbare summers raves
a cotton candy dancing on the stomachs of the brave
as a butchers breast drips its\' silk onto the ribs of a swollen mothers rage;
the grand old duke of york
with his corckscrew fillets of a yellow cod in a sauce of currents red
gives head to the blue flamingo
as it ruffles its\' feathers and limps in its\' pretence of being dead;
where is the basil rathbone that once shaved my head and doused my skull with interior design?
alignment has no meaning
if a windchime spits his fathers heart before gagging on the sagging tits of time!
three o\'clock and the sun has lost its\' hat
prehistoric cats give chase to a mormen scholars unorthadox belief.
tape his tongue and cuff him before his forearms sinks his dream in a moonlight swim
and sling their poisoned arrows into the cesspit of religious origin;
I am a bakewell tart dressed as a hooker in a morphine dress
pay less and get very little
pay more and I will become the whore who will bleed your windows dry
and dance with your silver spoon between the echoes of your moon.
never underestimate the man who is not afraid to cry
I am a fetus in a goldfish bowl
learning how to fly;