Carbon Monologue-oxide Poisoning
The roads are open. The cars -
verbs of the Autobahn -
cruising on accelerated rhythms,
they move,
they spin,
the spinners.
ignite the high octane phonetics,
syntactic spark and ear plugs,
87 units per gallon,
87 unit paragraphs.
Running through the inner ear -
the carburetor of my head.
The spinners.
The spinners.
Open mouths releasing exhaust,
while pollution crawls out my eyes
Gray clouds,
hanging overhead
are words
burning the galactose of
my brain.
Passenger-side wind bags.
Dual gasket dictionaries.
The spinners.
The spinners.
People pollute with their open mouths.
And we choke on it
without smelling it
and die.
The spinners.
The spinners.
[photos stolen from Evan Hayden ]
posted by Bizzle Fitz at 12:59 AM
2 Comments:
Gilligan is dead, Little Buddy. What can you say about that? Why cant you talk about something we can all understand? I told my friends at work to read you but they are losing interest. Fast. No man is an island and Gilligan lived on it. What island are you living on?
[photos stolen from Evan Hayden}
I'm very flattered that you appreciate my work, but it's not nice to steal. Since this isn't a commercial site, I don't really care that much that my art is on it, since you credited it, but it may be better to say "artwork by Evan Hayden". Less immoral sounding...
-Evan
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