There's a little boy in the corner of my brain with his nose against the wall.
Four big letters spell out down the front of his cone-shaped hat.
DUNCE
More by wph
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Night Machine
Downstairs in the kitchen
Stars are great wheels in a machine sky.
Heaven is above in the metal dome.
You pour yourself a cup of Water.
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New American Elegy
Long live the dead we prop ourselves up on,
The cane we pass off as our leg.
Long live the gods that money trickles down from,
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My Head Cold
My head cold waits at my bedroom windowsill
Tells me:
‘No, you can’t do your homework. Lie back down and quit thinking so much.’
Tells me:
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