Of Bookish ThingsAn Existential Dadaist Sonnet in the form of a Prose Poem
My favourite plant is the Moonglove. Before the harvest and cleaning season is over, asteroids kiss spectres in pails. Bird Pan thought, thinking of many things - mops and frying oatmeal. There is nothing. Turn it off too. We actually met. We don’t meet. Because I have someone I love. Gloves. Please tell me if there is, I don't knead it! I can't be one of them. I’m not saying hell, heroes, ghosts, dirt roads, sea-sky, ghosts are the worst, but we love lemons and are jealous. But I have hope. I will be myself. I don't need anything. If you don’t have anything - keyholes blind pockets. So, before the flood, there was a rock, a goat, a bear, a dog, a whale. You are worthless! You are worthless! I don't have time. Couples, oh, buy meds and darkness!! An unwanted person! Until someone noticed. But there is no chance. But I need stark skies, lights and scars. I love him. If there was, it would be film noir. There they sit and the song of the flowers grows in the darkness of the soul. But they never said anything. This is nothing. The stars don’t align. We haven't found it yet. Are you sure no one found it? Like me, it was all white stones and shells. But you know I’ll be happy to sell the Moon, while quantities last!!