Email Poem

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Poem

Hail the swaying stalks
Bowed so fiercely to razor 
breeze
Watch that young one stand
See the will-o-wisp rise!
From clover fields of hay
An idea, a spark
There is no fear
There is no pain

The bullwhip snaps
Goes the gust of wind, alas.
He hasn't worked out quite 
enough
Ketchup dripping from stomata
Drops pitter patter
On the filthy concrete floor
We'll never know what lies in 
store

Farmer John came out today
To make himself five bales of 
hay
Trips up over corpses, though
They haven't really died, you 
know.

Behold the flies!
Hear them sweat
Braced against the widow's web
Tension rises
Length extends
Race against the Persian sands
The bed frame creaks
It longs to speak

The eyes are here
They're everywhere
In our first meeting place
We copulate on sandy 
waters
The hope of born man
Hope only to birth again
The sun so high
Burns alone in the sky

The battlefield is crimson
No demon spawn would yield
Still the monster altercates
Bearing brethren's shields

Behold the men!
Feel them sweat
Working on Egyptian spreads
Minds discover
Fists defend
Unconscious of what life intends
Creepy-crawling
This cold bitter morning

The fittest will survive
And the strongest do move on
But stop the press! For from 
this test
What lion-bird will spawn?

Mistah Kurtz - he gone crazy
Two pennies for my baby?

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