Animal's House of Muse

Vibes to Feed the Hasty Soul with the States of All that Matters

Month: February, 2020

At Least It Wasn’t a Burning Bush (That’d’ve Been Embarrassing)

I made demands of the High Heavens
“Your servant is poor
And hungry
And overworked
This is unjust
How am I to function like this
Where’s my deliverance?
I declared that.
My call received an immediate response,
A sign as clear as day:
A trash truck caught fire
Closing the Walt Whitman Bridge
Just as I began to cross it
Just as my tank neared empty
And my bladder filled to its brim
My cup about to floweth over
Traffic came to a halt.
In the blaze I heard a stirring

You should have rang the Devil
I do not particularly move
Measure my currents
And find your own way home

Which I did,
But I nearly pissed myself laughing

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A Spoiled Princess and Her Frozen Peas

I can feel the cries of this ensouled earth
Crunching through and beyond
My memory foam insoles
Raw affliction reaching my ear drums
By happenstance
As I tread atop the cold, hard ground
Embittered and brittle
A once intrepid sward
With its subtly sharpened blades
Slicing the skin of exposed passersby
With noble resolution
And a lack of prejudice
Has no more give
Its swords break under the weight
Of my swiftly bounding school shoes
Such deformed, mutilated remains remind me that
As an individual, I’m not solely here
I’m not alone in the blight of February

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