in this world of intricate
live the insects delicate
creepers crawling, speakers drawling
print him off a duplicate
he'll stick it on a pole
stuff it deep inside the hole
gaping vaster, scraping faster
eating into his control
curves and lights and soft delights
still, this boy, he claims the right
photos faking at a world he thinks
he chews and tastes and bites
in a queer morass of memory
he wanders ever aimlessly
skin a'prickling, hearts a'pickling
locked in his infirmary
he's quaintly unaware
of the way we tear our hair
grasping nothing, raspy blushing
he goes on without a care
YOU ARE READING
Poems for Morbid Children
PoetryThis is a collection of some of my more curious and macabre poems. Many of my poems play with words, the sounds and shapes of them. However, I often attempt to delineate emotion and sensation I cannot otherwise word, or I take inspiration from legen...
