Another poetry installment. Commence your celebrations.
He Do
He do the police in different voices,
He do Eliot and Leaves of Grass.
I no listen all rested under sycamore tree -
It all angry-gold firecracker tall,
It all dropping thistlesses-stickery,
All pointy-sharp black starburst bomb.
They all them little spikes.
They all they little stars is.
They all spiderweb stickily.
They all pearly-whirly wet.
He do the police in different voices.
He do Ovid Virgil Poe.
I no listen all curious-like touch
They spines prickery-stickery on
My fingers blood drop
Gleam hit my eye raw.
I love this, it’s so fresh!
(It all firecracker starburst, all greeny-shoot spring … no, it’s no good, I can’t do it the way you do!)
Thanks for your feedback. There will be more poetry in the future.