I found a finger on the end of my hand,
A further three and a thumb to command,
With another on the other arms’ end,
And a torso in between to attend.
Two thighs with their knees close together,
And slender calves hanging below,
One foot on the edge of forever,
And a second a lifetime ago.
A short neck away from the hangman,
Where a couple of chins have appeared;
Features beyond those of strangled,
And a forehead with more head each year.
Two holes in the sides filling inwards,
Two more in the front falling out,
And nothing between but opinions
Unable to exit a mouth,
As you’ve stapled it up out of order
To refute all the things that I’ve said,
So I’ve no other way to forewarn you
Than to point finger guns at my head.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment