There is no frigate like a book
To take us lands away,
Nor any coursers like a page
Of prancing poetry.
This traverse may the poorest take
Without oppress of toll;
How frugal is the chariot
That bears a human soul!
-dickinson
and were we but the fragrance or
the pitch in pot for pen
then by the grace we tread before
the never solid sin
but were we yet the flesh and gut
the cave beneath the brow
then by the by the lid i'd shut
and bid it bye the now
the sweat is in the crevi-sis
the clock my greatest neme-sis
the couch my coffin pene-tens
my words my only common-sens
but no one understood the waves
that protrude past the plums so pursed
it's not like i said words that saved
and at their best resound rehearsed
have you considered oh the consequence?
of basking barren on the bench?
you NEVER made me you much sense?
but you were lazy anyways.
the sheets are sweet to me and i
they hold me in in mornings
and then they hold me in the night
and twist when in my turnings
and you should see my pillow too
my head fits on its cover
and when the sky burns black from blue
you'll find my head's own lover.
I ONLY EAT RED THINGS
though i'm a vegetarian
it's caused me quite a lot of problems
the red, you know.
I am thomas. i intend to conquer the world. but you're welcom to come with if youd like.
