#repostery

[arefriendsdetectives2]

Undertakings

It's by default I deal with death:

My sister's goldfish and the hen

The dog killed, plus the household pests.

I scoop the dead things up and then

It's to the dustbin or the bed

Of roses down behind the shed.

Because my stomach and my heart

Could better steel themselves than those

Around me, death became my part

To undertake. And so it goes.

I've scooped up dead things by the dozens:

The friends, the dog, and several cousins

And now my dustbin's overflowing

But you should see the roses growing.

[arefriendsdetectives2]

The mornings taste like bruises

I plant upon your shoulder

With amorous excuses

From biter and beholder.

No delicacy half so sweet

Is served by earthly cooks

As you who snatch my tangled sheet

And flash your hungry looks.

I crave you like no other, you

The first among my vices

(Perhaps the angels cover you

With secret herbs and spices).

So let us blanket out the sun

And tumble underneath again.

And with your leave, delicious one,

I’ll have you in my teeth again!

[arefriendsdetectives2]

The bravery of being mean

Is cheap when you're behind a screen.

It takes cojones to debase

A motherf*cker face to face.

[arefriendsdetectives2]

How glad I am that I was born

Before the world went squirrel corn

And lost its goddamn freaking mind.

Forget the blind who lead the blind, 

The forecast's looking ever glummer

For now the dumbass leads the dumber.

[arefriendsdetectives2]

The Great Fall

The noble egg, in infinite profundity,

Perched high above world and its depravity.

His intellect, a mind of great fecundity,

Alas was too top heavy; yahoo gravity

Deposed him for his cerebral rotundity

And where he fell he left a great concavity.

The monarch summoned townsfolk and nobility

Post-haste to where the former ovoid trembled

In yellow gore and shards of such fragility

They scattered so as never to be rembled.

Though brave, the horsemen lacked the capability

To have poor Humpty Dumpty reassembled.

[arefriendsdetectives2]

Have you used your feelings up

And have you so consumed your store

Of pain and sorrow, fear and rage

You cannot feel them anymore?

Have you drained your little cup

Of giddiness and reckless glee?

Could sentimental excess be

The reason? Or perhaps it's age.

Has overwhelming misery

Or some elation too exquisite

Inflicted lasting injury?

something different, but what is it?

Have you spent your last emotions

And turned to stone beneath your armour,

Immune to all of life's commotions

Or has time's passing made you calmer?

[arefriendsdetectives2]

Dreams bring him grief or delusional joy.

Waking he’s merry, the next minute sad.

Who could he be, this unusual boy?

Either a poet or stark raving mad.

[arefriendsdetectives2]

The Big Bad Wolves may huff and puff

But cannot topple me like wood 

Or straw; I’m built of stronger stuff

And proudly wear my riding hood.