Saturday, February 3, 2007
The Loafer
A loafer ruled the world. He sipped black tea with grains of sugar in it the size of stars. His mother brought him sandwiches and clicked her tongue disapprovingly. Such a smart boy, but so lazy. His dry ice beard smoked in the sun. To get up from the hammock, he needed to slingshot around the dark side of the moon. Even with that kind of momentum, it was difficult to predict where his feet would land, if at all.
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3 comments:
I really like your recent prose poems. In this poem, I like that the grains of sugar are the size of stars and that he has a dry ice beard that smokes in the sun.
Thanks. They seem okay to me. But I can't remember writing them, I was so sick over the weekend.
Maybe being sick is the trick to writing good. Now all you have to do is find a way to be sick forever. That sounds like fun.
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