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ZILCH-CHAPTER 6-Trash-1st Third: Handwritten by Myself. Our Smith's dorsal in violent recline Begins to rise from a great decline A shoulder sets right, up into the socket A hip sends shivers, boiling up like a rocket Shapely and stoic, taking up a stronger stance Webbed feet emerge, formed from the manic dance Along with the teeth, the fingers and the toes The digits are now sharing a body with their foe's Still, without eyes, the journey will be trouble Still, our Smith, pushes on through the rubble Still, the Cot, seperates warmth from the cold Now, the Names, travel through ashes to behold
ZILCH-CHAPTER 6-Trash-2nd Third: Handwritten by Myself. Our Smith has reached the edge of the Cot Now a little further from green and red rot The temperature rises and rises and never peaks And along with it...small, quiet, swelling squeaks "ShInEr, BrIdGe, TrIdEnT, JiA, KoLe, NoUgAt, PoRtEnt, QuIlLa....." Our Smith is shuddering in rigorous motions The bellows bend, and blow away notions "MiLnEr, GeRiL, SuIkOpIna, BlItHe, NuMbEr 6, SeEya-" Our Smith turns their ear to the now silent flame And finds his current situation a shame With no way to see, his trek will be tough So tries to recall what made his meal have enough
ZILCH-CHAPTER 6-Trash-3rd Third: Handwritten by Myself. The teeth in his face, still gooey and gross Twist in and out, in absence of a nose And replaced in the centre of his malforming mug They line, all but one, in a mouth all snug Taking the deepest breath he can muster His chest glows red, without a green luster And blasts out a shout, into the Cot's cluster "DiD aNyOnE nOtIcE a MiSsInG Smith? Up On ThE SeAt? NeAr ThE ZeNith? WeLl I'm DoWn bY tHe Cot, Stuck AlL oN mY oWn! PlEaSe, cOuLd SoMeOne wIth eYes Guide tHe UnKnOwn?" ..................... Bellows bend and blow away ash Our Smith stands alone, among the trash.
ZILCH-CHAPTER 6:
Trash
The words come out, but no-one's around.
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#zilch #chapter6 #trash #poetryseries #mapl3syruppoetry #iloveyouall
