Monday, February 24, 2014

A Kiln Sitting Poem

Waiting for the cones to fall
Gives me time to think
The world is big and I am small
And I could use a drink.

Inside the kiln the flames they roar.
The glazes flux and flow.
And I, outside, begin to snore
Before I even know

That I'm asleep. But I must be
Because when I'm awak-ed
People tend to notice me
If I'm in public, naked.

Or anyway, I think they would,
Not that I would know!
I guess that now I prob'ly should
Go check the peephole's glow.

Those bloody cones, like soldiers, they.
Standing straight and tall.
When, o when, I sit and pray
Will those fuckers fall?
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