a poem by Mat Gould
sucking on the fat of life
he heard "Blakes ancient voice" then he did put in our mouths true words are hard to come by as we spit the tears that we have swallowed into the puddles we drink from looking at ourselves in obese daylight as if we are behind it teeth at our fingers faces buried with many many bones pulling each rib apart and asking a favor of this heart but what good times we have begging faith to jump on over and rely on us |