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Contributed by Muppetman on Sunday, 16th February 2014 @ 03:20:55 AM AEST
Topic: fantasy

Long ago a GI surgeon mused, this specimen is completely different than one I operated on
in Mexico.
Sure, he said, we wonder about the parasite and who, or just whom exactly are we.
Could there be a perfect stratagem, some perfection of food, forget the joy and all the assortments
of myriad different tastes, hot or cold, the portion of the brain that controls smell and tastes and provokes us to eat when we should or maybe shouldn't.
The astrophysicist will tell you that we are indeed not only living in the universe, but also made up of the stuff from the universe.
Gross anatomy, the whole enchilada if one would, all wrapped up in tortilla starting with the mouth
and the salivary glands and onto the end or like a good beer you only wear for a while and then sadly say sing Sayonara too in a universal language known by all who drink the fermentation you develop, hopefully chilled this old friend you were so happy to know, it's taste imprinted upon
not the soul but maybe perhaps the verse of seemingly joyous good time just now recently had.

Can I feed like a parasite, like a microscopic worm that lives within
What symbiosis is there in any culture that could and should always remain,

Can I feed on love and peace
Can I learn to objectively listen
and remove shame

No, I don't want to be opportunistic
like a malevolent despot that wipes out any host
kind enough to take me in

I'm thinking this now as I look at an empty wrapper
that held skittles my daughter left in the waste bin
near my computer

They Shoot Goats, Don't They...
or was it horses

Roamers in a bunch
Remember when you made plain fun
out of coloring in between the lines with
crayons and they smelled so good
you gave them a taste and it wasn't so

ever eat dirt crunch, crunch, tongue wondering
quite a lot

coloring book reading book water color
spray paint fresh water
who goes there


Copyright © Muppetman ... [2014-02-1603:20:55]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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