Yeah I should’ve left everything alone. But I did not leave everything alone. I instead fiddled with names and addresses – couple years ago. I wanted to try being Teddy instead of Timmy – messed around with blog names and such. And now I got a bit of a mess.
What I mean: I’ve been lately getting new followers for a blog where nothing exists. Don’t know why the glitch is or how to fix it. Anybody with any suggestions what’s going on?
vowels in flower caressing silence
openly muse on if this night they will
get to slip on iris dresses and shine
though they will settle for the usual
story starring a dewy peony
as it was written in the advert
stuck in the universal paper fat
and is best expectations are kept calm.
just then was born a murmur
and several vowels assumed the credit
– these things flashes within the land of sound
and suddenly the murmur grows
fast in waves driven by bombast and roar;
problem was, this murmur did not enter
into existence with growing in mind
but sunset seas and brazilian jazz
on a mantle sat two glass animals
or more like space occupied by stances.
One of the mantle animals of glass
was an elephant; and the other of
the mantle animals was a giraffe.
The human home they were prisoners in
kept them on a metaphorical cloud
of nicely numbing boredom sedation,
until one fateful evening the lass
celebrated a blossoming birthday.
Awakening came to both glass figures,
unable to be flesh they nightly wept.
put this mark a bit off-center
using the handiest pencil
and a notice of neon
that blinks but is not obtrusive
will not author an error by
asking in a reminiscent throb
whatever could be the belief
causative creating a rush,
as in all there is is this
lounging smudge whistling off-key;
may check out the lay of the land
one of these days but not this day
I sense what I will believe is a habit
related to an ancient root; a spell
that is designed to dangle a tempting treat
promised to the compliant puppet;
being obedient in sacrifice
to a foreign, and highly alien
pantheon mixed into a statue
minus much of a principle
resembling pleasure; but make no mistake
when coming to the nameplate
– it shall not be forgot – fresh blood begot.
The amnesia resides in this end.
To the host runs the summons
of emergency; javelins
here are all invisible;
nonetheless, offenders will feel
the thrust or the target reminded
of being naughty ought to suffer
the boggy bars and gleaming badge
of guilt; but what a surprise
they are today repulsed for verily
repulsive are they and cannot count
on certain victory; as meteor
and missile ricochet and our park picnic
where lasses in skirts boldly coax rusty
practice in flirtation arts
sighs in the arms of happy idleness,
free from disturbance at last
The ravens Myrtle and Melvin
did not judge the brand new bistro
as the battlefield was yet warm.
“I can’t get into a buteo mood,”
Raven Myrtle confessed to Raven
Melvin. He replied, “well fingernails caked
in blood, mud, gore, frankly my taste for
fingernails caked with blood, mud, gore, has gone
into a sabbatical and I doubt
I shall see such a taste return too soon.”
Just then their lanky heron waiter
sought to see if they were ready to eat.
kitty cannot kill every bunny;
they are not naked now as in winter
and nature revisits lazy virtue;
thus many a corpuscle is at rest.
Or maybe crusades do not really work
though the walking granny knots never learn
– it is perfectly understandable
the madam should prefer a pest-free house –
then again just who shall we call useless?
there go exterminator livelihoods
– maybe they know better than we peons
that stamping equals multiplication.
Then again the ornamental singers
can’t make a kitty care about bunnies.