My Heart is a Pillar of Free Waffles
In my spare time this
month I read the black neon
clock’s universal
values, bomb blasts or
legs. I want to clean the bones.
Your body is an
abrasive device
that spray paints every known stone,
a man example,
clear guard of solar
windows, outdoor energy,
the pane result of
a hit taken for
all. And I will attack from
the freedom pole one
day, away from the
long bamboo handles that don’t
dig their own dust, don’t
match the language of
the demon language, melting
the currents of my
drunk eyes down to my
fingertips, seeing my drum
hands shake my branches.
[via Bulgarian-Greek-Hmong Daw-Latvian-Urdu, Bing translator]
Tags: haiku, Marie Claire, poetry, Twilight, worst poem of all time
The Book of Haiku Revelation 