idleness ethic poetics, take 1

Satan sends a breeze to remind
a man comfy in a candy
comedy dream that outside

no hope knows breath and all outside
is grown constrictive constrictors
– boa, ball, python, reticulated –

who happen to be humongous
and itching to squeeze and wholly

gulp every inside stuffing speck
except for polyester snips,
point being what was fenced
enjoyed a hot season

believing a fantasy
left properties built for the purpose
of play, which Satan, dressed as
the dad, hates with purest passion


About Timmy the Scribbler

Love to write all kinds of stuff I love writing so many different kinds of stuff it is a constant struggle to narrow the focus to a manageable handful and let the others go. But a few years ago I dipped my fingers into a poetry pie and of all my uncertainties, one thing that is no uncertainty is that it is one passion that must remain, so maybe that's the one. I do dearly delight in chopping up fictional works into stanzas and syllables.
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