piggy little found
Black as the ink
imagine,
octopus's favorite.
But before
it has a chance to dry,
water rises up
and black as tar,
My client starts to cry.
Pen is a center-fold,
All that smudge,
and believe me, its cold
words that have meaning,
gets lost when water
splashes so angry.
Words blur,
like underwater
chlorine.
Its in a way that's squealing
in a world so good & wicked
piggy little found,
and its curly little tail,
Forced to run home,
but so safe & sound
in the storms of the hail.
Arms of a garden gnome.
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