Arsenic Lobster
poetry journal |
Issue Nineteen Spring 2009 |
Sir Bob Jason Spear "-O Bob! nous changerons, à la métempsychose…" -Tristan Corbière Sir Bob pricks up his ears (just a paranormal interference) And returns to perfect sleep. Later, he stands and stretches, Yawns, and trots off to a tree- Dog + Tree = Piss. Sir Bob is happy. He sniffs around a bit (A familiar brand) and trots away To his heaven of shade in the doorway. Sir Bob is starved. He stumbles Off to his Miracle Dish, Finds it perfectly replenished, Eats it up and spins the grail On his nose, like a basketball The world revolves, but Bob isn't bothered By stupid questions. He takes a leak. He goes back to sleep. |
About Jason Spear |