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Poems Peter Schwartz |
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nimrod they say I'm dumb but I've heard kiloton prone in the trumpet notes of sorry tortured out like Cinderella on a winter soap box I've seen satellite efforts that shrunk their reward to tears drowned in the ooze of embattled gobbledygook by some decidedly inaccurate moonlight I've smelled the subterranean woes on the soles of fat jitterbug professors |
the heat, the patent yoga rot of bottled roosters in an open market I've touched the tin eureka in the polar ascribed to choppy midwives underfoot still mascot happy from the last fragile engine opposite I've tasted lightning cooked tender random off grapevines with a twist of mandala, cheroots and pomegranate ether and silk and pin and rib *and for you idiots I've heard the vulnerable sing  |
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