I feel you
cunningly drumming from the inside out
with your tiny sticks and snare.
Rat-tat-tat-tat!
John Phillip Sousa would be proud
to have you march on and on.
Glory, glory, hallelujah.
You seem to never sleep, and instead
practice specialty Street Fighter 2 Turbo moves.
Down/ Down, Back/ Back, Kick
You must be some sort of super hero
or a mighty Indian warrior.
I can feel you, Hiawatha,
sitting in your wigwam made of cells and blood
drumming on the belly ceiling.
1 comment:
amor.
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