Thursday, 7 January 2010


A hair’s breadth away from the street,
And that’s not because you live next door to it.
A hog’s arse away from your feet,
And that is because you’ve given more to it.
You slashed and burned the hairs on your arms
Whilst falling asleep in the heat,
And your skin fell away like a parchment,
And collected itself by the street.

An old beggar was away with your flesh,
Whilst the animals awaited a taste,
You were too large to take off from your crèche,
So your epidermis was lost to the race.
In the ensuing days you grew larger,
As the pen’s hold was gradually tightened;
Your benevolent sun was much harder,
And you looked like a fruit over ripened.

A sling shot away from the moon,
Regardless of who’s raving at it;
A star’s length away from the sun,
Independently raising your status.
The house was sold out from about you,
As the weather was unduly cautious;
You remained as the only old feature,
And the wild things closed in for the auction.

Now the morning has a way with the birds,
And upon singing the scale of your size,
You were sold by the flocks to the herds,
Who began with your two hard boiled eyes.
And before long your bones were appearing,
And your insides were all inside out;
You were as close to the street and the clearing
As the hole in your arse would allow.

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