So. I was thinking. (Big surprise there. "There are thinkers and there are do-ers". Anybody got a wild guess as to what I am?) It is high time I posted a short story here as a break from my usual short ramble follow by a poetic amble. It is coming. I promise. Imagine this a thrilling advert involving beautiful gents and graceful ladies that stalk across the screen with a bourgeoisie sort of grace. Imagine this a TEASER. In the meantimes, enjoy a bit of penning from yours truelys hand in the normal fashion; poeticly.
Riches
The silence of a silver spoon
chocking it's occupants
in a clandestine sort of way
crystalline works
of natures cruel mistress
bathed bodies, spinal and clinical
with ski jump noses held above your dirt
Spooning well-washed foodstuffs
off icy plates that match even the toilets
perfecting reclination on chaise lounges
that follow you around with arms
open only by the force of their maker
You who bleeds blackberry blood
onto the hell-white towels
(a perfect incident you must rectify)
stay up there, quiet
You who, rules me
fools me, shoots at me,
eats for me.
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