Wednesday, September 19, 2012

To be able to laugh, laugh, laugh uproariously,
To laugh like an overturned glass,
Completely crazy just from feeling,
Completely disfigured from scraping against things,
My mouth cut up from biting on things,
My fingernails bloody from clawing at things,
And then give me whatever cell you like that I may look back on life.

1 comment:

  1. Calling Card

    I am metamorphing art
    a brain in a biological bottle.
    What does that even mean?
    I am but a latter day fool,
    a futile Lancelot sans his Art or Guin.
    If you let me in, if I satisfy some gaping
    pinhole in your aimless curiosity,
    if my foraging philosophy intrigues
    your rambling wit, if we sit to laugh and cry
    over wine and brie, you will see.