42


Take my brain out,
float it in some salt water.
Hang it up to dry in the sun. drain my thoughts.

Desiccate, until it is crisp and almost crunchy.
Let the birds pick at it; puncture, tear.
pieces.

It has not done anything for me in a while.

But I sure would like to catch
a glimpse
of a beautiful, rare bird.

Cut my fingers off,
float them in some honey.
Let them get sticky,
like a strip of
fly paper.

I have not touched anything
worthwhile lately.

But I would like to touch upon the meaning of life, the universe,
everything.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems


Share This Poem