I yawn at the world
and shove a sword
into my stomach
via my gaping mouth.
The sword moves south.
I am still bored,
I am yawning
at all this beauty
and sex and cable television.
I'll take a nap
hoping to wake up
and feel better,
finding out everyone is dead
and I am dead, and nothing
has to change.
Oh, the sword.
It's a metaphor.
If I could swallow swords,
I wouldn't be writing poetry.
That's for goddamn sure.
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2 comments:
4th stanza, love the line breaks.
Also love starting a sentence with a numeral. It means you get to not press shift, but still be grammatically correct.
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