Tuesday, April 22, 2014

I dont write enough, so here's some shitty poetry

Bacon: An Ode


Pre-packaged bits

of young

fat

pink and gray

pigs

spending days 

and

days

and weeks

in splintering

wooden pens

just eating

and

eating

and shitting

all so I

can have my

delicious

 brown

bites of 

fried fat

pig.


Tessa

We would go on walks.
She would dance, and sing and 
twirl around old lamp posts,
in tune with the rain drops,
knocking against the concrete.

“Oh!” She would say, as her
hand slips from the poll,
revealing black paint chips
stuck to her like new swim 
trunks- 

just tighter than normal, so
they don’t fall off. 

We would go on walks.
I would watch her red hair cling
 to the back of her wet neck like 
a roller coster, as she spun in 

yellow light, her face glowing 
like a jelly fish at the bottom
of an old ship wreck, stopping
to admire


broken Dresden china.







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