November 30, 2012

Seven, Nineteen and Forty-Two

I tried to fold something that doesn't exist.
I bended and twisted and came up with this
really big pain in my butt and my head
and a hole in my center I need to dye red.
I counted to three by twelves and by nines.
I scoured the pine trees looking for signs
that nobody left me, that nobody sent,
that nobody cared if I twisted and bent
into shapes that would suit a faceless time,
but all I found was this odd little rhyme

and Elvis.