Untitled as of yet...

In Greek mythology, they speak of the House of Rumour. This house has no walls, only sound waves that are carried throughout the world and end at Rumour's house because she hears everything. The following quote by Bill Cosby and the Greek story combined have led to this poem, which is currently untitled.

"End the name of your child with a vowel, so that when you yell the name will carry." - B.C.




"Where are you goin'?"

She asked her curious and curled apple dumpling,
Wandering far into thicket and field
Away from mother's buzzing house of tall tales
And dying fact.

Hands beaten by tall grass curtains
Short ottomans of thigh high bushes.

She runs too fast for mother's sweeping ears.

Wind whipped and watered eye trail decamp to
Mist leaf and blade with the soaking sonnet of privy.

The tear drop turned dew drop chorus
Fills Rumour's ears of chaotic commotion.

Sounds settling, leave no soft murmurs of
Ambition's mud soaked footsteps.

A Sip for a Nibble, a Jab for a Stab

The cannablistic comportment of stars
Likes their food
Hot
Both in toothsome touch and taste.
Gravity holds his tongue
As the last noodle is sucked dry.
Cue the brown dwarf.

I am
Syrup smog of black tar underneath the fifteen car pileup you
So carefully caused
Suffocating you
With a reminding force of why we stop at red lights.
Laugh.
It's the only way you'll get past that six digit figure.

You enjoy the commemoration which I enjoy
Of wine
Of whine
And of wane.

I am
Nicked magnifying glass
Slow churning weapon of choice for your countless ant massacres.
They pass the gasoline torch that is their arm.
Recall
Igniting the revolution that is their colonial independence.

I am
The earache your mother's affectionate astral vocal chords can never absolve.
Leaving your ear canal with the strangled burn no q-tip can itch.

You are
The crack in my waffle cone letting the dreams of my mudslide delight drip away
And you've misplaced me in the Black Rock Desert.

I am
Desolate dog that has found his one pound of joy for the day.
You are
Delectable rat that has given me rabies.

A life for a life is suitable.

You
Are the snore that continues to rock the coffin of my composure while
I
Am the vexatious burn that hugs your now flaccid neck
As we swing to the tune of end's song.