Hey there.
Just discovered some of my old school poetry from my ill-fated university degree program years ago. If Linda Woodbridge had stayed at the University of Alberta for just a couple more years, my whole life would be different, but alas, all I have now is old photocopies of poems written in classes that didn't matter in the pursuit of a degree that means little, if anything to anyone in the real world. In any event, here's a snapshot of myself ten years ago, trying to be a smartass...
Burning Desire
O my love is like a ripe, ripe orange
I can't wait to freshly squeeze her
She opens herself like a rusty door hinge
Each time I try and tease her
Her face is like a new-fallen acorn
Surmounted by squirrel-brown hair
Around her shoulders are sweaters worn
To keep her from chills in the air
Tall she's not, but she's not barred
From sporting as she's quick and thin
O my love is like a new graveyard
And I'm dying to get in.
Okay. Send all raspberries and abuse to jdsilentio@city-of-liverpool.com. I apologize for the weasel that I once was. I hope I've outgrown it. And as the paramecium said, "Adios Amoebas."
Justice for the 96
-mARKUS
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment