There was once an old woman all wrapped in red bandages
she went fishing for children's tears to make soul sandwiches
For children's souls were fat like grubs
She loved the way they wriggled between her yellowed nubs
She tied a salty net to the end of her fishing line
It drifted along the clouds towards anything crying
Siphoning tears from sleepers in the sky
Who would awaken numb and sucked dry
With no more interest in games or passion or play
Emotive as statues over Mom's plates of Broccoli Creme Brulée
Any ghost of light in their eyes
Reserved for columns of numbers and charts like pies
The barnyard will watch Mom and Dad look worried
About wherever their munchkin' s spark got buried
But the pigs will shiver and the donkeys will bray,
"The Old One must have gotten a sandwich today."
YOU ARE READING
Grayspace
PoetryThis project is the author's exercise of methods using automatism as either the finished product or the basis for stories and poems. Nonsense, jarring images, and peculiar journeys woven from the stuff of dreams await. You might laugh. You might cr...
