Arsenic Lobster poetry journal
Issue Nineteen
Spring 2009
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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

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