Poetry
I got a set of magnetic poetry, put it up and threw a party. These are now some of the things glaring at me every morning from the refrigerator door as I stumble sleepily and reach in to get milk for my cereal:incubate sweet lather peach bare breast milk
always and enormous
we sweat and drive madly away
languid butt ache symphony
I ask her pant size
rip me like in day TV
red finger pole goddess
But while many of the words remained unused, I wouldn't say that about the white board, every square inch of which was covered with graffiti the next morning. Maybe that teaches us something about the creative urges of my drunken guests, or in general, people liberated in one way or another. I wish I knew better.
posted by Dora @ 2:27 AM
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